


The madness of a delirious Dean

by 6Darkest6Angel6



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crazy Dean Winchester, Delirium, Delusions, Fever, Gen, Pneumonia, Sick Dean Winchester, Worried Bobby Singer, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2141988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6Darkest6Angel6/pseuds/6Darkest6Angel6
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's sick & delirious and thinks the motel room is trying to kill him, so Sam takes care of him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. not sick

"Sam, f-for the last time, I'm not sick," said the older Winchester as they walked into the motel room. He threw his duffel bag, trying to aim for the bed, but it ended up on the floor. Dean glared and sat on the closest bed.

Sam sighed, and threw his bag on the free bed. "Dean, you've been coughing and sneezing the past two days. You almost passed out earlier, that's why we stopped for the night. Will you just admit you're sick?"

"I'm not g-going to admit... some-something that ain't t-true. There's nothing wrong with me, I'm fine. End of story," said Dean, but the moment was ruined by a round of sneezing. "Huh- _hitchsh_ -uh! Hetch _SHUH_!  _Ish_ choo!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever you say, Dean. If you're not sick why did you just sneeze?"

"Du-Dunno. I'm allergic t-to the... bed?" suggested Dean with a shrug.

"You don't have any allergies. You sneezed because you're sick." Sam reached over to touch one of Dean's flushed cheeks. "Dean, you're hot."

Dean smirked slightly. "Thanks," he said with a shiver, holding his jacket closed against the sudden coldness.

"Lay down," Sam told him, before he stood and tried to lower Dean to the bed.

Dean shrugged the hands off him. "If y-you don't quit it with the mother-hen routine, you're g-going to be the one laying down in a minute, when I punch you in th-the face." He wiped his nose with his sleeve, making Sam grimace.

Sam folded his arms, and stood in-front of his stubborn brother.

"What now? Do you w-want a picture?"

"Dean. You. Are. Sick," said Sam slowly. "I'm calling Bobby."

"What t-the hell are you calling Bobby for? Are you go-going to tell on me?"

"No. I'm going to ask him if he can take the hunt, while you rest for a few days," Sam told him, getting his phone out of his pocket.

Dean stood, and stumbled slightly. "I do-don't need rest."

"You do. You can't even stand up without falling about like you're drunk," said Sam, dialling Bobby's number.

Dean shot forward to grab for the phone, but somehow ended up in a heap on the floor. "Er.. S-Sam? I think... I think the room moved."

Sam shook his head as he knelt beside his prone brother, and helped him sit up. "You probably fell because you're dizzy. Are you going to admit it now?" he asked, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"A-Admit what? Th-The rooms trying to kill me," he whispered, looking around.

"Nobody is trying to kill you. You go a little weird when you're sick."

Dean pouted slightly, and folded his arms. "I'm n-not weird, you're weird," he said, looking like a big child.

"Get into bed," said Sam, trying to pull him up.

"I'm no-not going to... bed with y-you, you perv," said Dean, pulling his arm away.

"Oh for- Just get up, and lay down before I knock you down."

Dean looked confused. "Huh? What's th-the point in... in getting up to lay down ag-again?"

"Get in the bed, Dean," he said through gritted teeth.

"I don't wanna go to b-bed," the older Winchester whined, sounding like a five year old.

Sam tried not to smile. "I'll tell you what, get an early night... and if you're okay in the morning, we'll get started on the hunt. If you're sick, I'll call Bobby and we'll stay here for a couple of days."

"You ca-can't tell me what to do, I'm o-older... and better looking than you," said Dean, before launching into a sudden coughing fit.

Sam frowned, and started rubbing Dean's back when he doubled over with the force of the cough. "That doesn't sound too good."

Finally, Dean was able to sit up without feeling like he was coughing up a lung. "Sa-am, I think I'm sick," he wheezed.

"You think? What gave you that idea?" asked Sam with raised eyebrows, helping Dean up onto the bed. "I told you you were sick, but would you listen? Nooo."

"I'm... I'm n-not sick."

Sam sighed, and helped Dean take his boots off. "You said you were a minute ago. Stop acting like a child, and get some rest."

Dean sniffled, and laid down on his side, away from Sam. His eyes narrowed when he saw the bedside table between the beds. "Sam? T-The lamps staring at me."

"Dean, it's a lamp. It's not staring at you," he said, covering his brother up with the blanket. "It's the fever making you all weird."

"I'm not weird. I swear it's po-possessed. Oooh." Dean sat up, nearly knocking Sam over, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. "We need to do an ex-exorcism."

Sam's mouth opened and closed several times, before he answered. "Er... I'm not doing an exorcism on a lamp," he finally said. If there was one thing he hated, it was a sick feverish Dean. If he wasn't acting like a child, he was delirious.

"F-Fine. I'll do one." Dean tried to get out of bed, but Sam grabbed his wrists.

"Dean, get in the damn bed. The lamps not possessed, and the rooms not trying to kill you." Sam knelt on the bed, and lowered Dean gently so he was laying down.

"Sam," Dean growled, struggling and kicking. "Let me go."

Sam tried to pin him down, which made Dean struggle more. It wasn't long before the two Winchesters were wrestling in the middle of the bed.

"Dean, will you lay still before I handcuff you to the bed?"

"Didn't know y-you were that k-kinky, Sammy," Dean said with a smirk. "Sorry, but I don't... sw-swing that way. Y-" he was cut off by another cough. "Ugh," he moaned as the hacking coughs racked his body, making his back and chest hurt.

Sam frowned, and turned Dean onto his side. "Hey, hey. Take it easy," he soothed, rubbing his brother's heaving back. He sighed in relief when Dean stopped coughing, and relaxed slightly. "Dean, can you hear me?"

"Well... The only thing I can hear right now is a sh-shaggy-haired bitch whining in my ear... so yeah, I guess I can hear you."

Before Sam could reply, a car horn started blaring outside.

Dean gasped, shooting up in the bed. "My b-baby's calling for me," he said, struggling again.

"What the hell are you talking about? What are you doing?" asked Sam, trying to keep Dean in the bed.

Dean turned huge green eyes to his brother. "M-My car, Sam. She ne-needs me."

"For the love of-" said the younger Winchester. "Dean, it was probably someone a few doors up. The Impala's not alive, it's just a car."

"Shh. Sh-She'll hear you," whispered Dean, putting a shaking finger to Sam's lips. It took a couple of seconds, since there seemed to be two Sams in-front of him. "Sam, have you got a twin?"

"No. You're sick. Lay back down, and I'll get you some aspirin." Sam lowered Dean into the bed yet again, tightening his hold when the car horn started going again. "YEAH! YOU GOT A CAR! BIG DEAL! WILL YOU SHUT THE HELL UP!" he suddenly yelled at the door.

Dean stared up at Sam with wide eyes. "She's in tr-trouble," he gasped, trying to get up again.

Sam closed his eyes, and silently counted to ten. "Dean, the Impala is fine." He put his hand on Dean's forehead, and flinched. "Dammit. You're really sick. You need to get some rest."

"For th-the last time... I'm not sick. I don't ne-need rest... I need my car."

Sam tightened his grip on his brother. "You're not going anywhere. The car's fine, and you will be too."

Dean's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Home," he whispered, shivering.

"Yeah, I guess she is our home," said Sam, running his fingers through Dean's sweat-soaked hair. "Please Dean, get some rest, okay?"

Dean finally nodded, and relaxed. He reached up to grab Sam's shirt, and pulled him close. "Do-Don't touch the... lamp," he whispered. "It'll k-kill you."

"Okay, Dean. I won't touch the lamp," Sam reassured his sick brother.

Dean smiled slightly at his brother, his eyes fluttering closed, as he finally gave in to sleep.

Sam watched Dean sleep for a few seconds, listening to the wheezing rattle of his breathing, before standing up to get a bowl of water and a cloth to help cool his brother down. He also got a glass of water and some aspirin, which he put beside the 'possessed' lamp for when Dean woke up.

"It's okay. It's only me," he whispered when Dean flinched as Sam ran the cloth over his face.

Sam didn't hear anything else from Dean until two in the morning when he heard a bang, and woke up to see his brother on the floor between the beds, wrestling with the lamp.

**TBC**


	2. Larry

_CRASH! BANG!_

Sam shot up in the bed, and reached his arm out to turn on the lamp, but he noticed it wasn't there. He looked at the clock beside his bed to see it was 2:00.

"What the-" he whispered when he heard struggling in the room. Worried something had happened to his brother, he got out of bed, and turned on the ceiling light to see Dean rolling around the floor with the lamp.

"Er... Dean?" asked Sam, walking over. "What the hell are you doing? Have you completely lost your mind?" He grabbed Dean's arm, and tried to get him up, but he rolled away from him, still gripping the lamp.

"S'bish," muttered Dean, tightening his grip around the base.

Sam shook his head, and tried to pry Dean's hands off. "Dean, let go."

"GET OFF M-ME!" yelled Dean, grabbing the cord with his free hand and wrapping it around the lamp, trying to strangle it with its own cord. "I'll t-teach you to... ma-make fun of me."

"Oh for gods sake," said Sam, trying to stop Dean from killing the light. "Dean, will you let the lamp go?"

Dean wasn't listening, he was too busy trying to rip the lampshade off. "You're going to... pay for th-that. You little-"

Sam tried not to laugh when Dean started rolling around on the floor again, muttering and calling the lamp names.

"Ass-bitch f-face...Piece of cr-crap...I'm...I'm g-going to smash your lights out," Dean wheezed, shaking the lamp as he continued strangling it. "I'm going to ki-kill you."

Sam rolled his eyes, and grabbed Dean's arm. "Dean, give me the lamp."

"No," he said with a slight pout. "It n-needs to...to die." He sneezed twice, " _HA_ -etchsh! ISZH _hoo_!" but still didn't let go of the lamp. Dean twisted the light bulb until it came out, and threw the bulb to the other side of the room where it shattered against the wall.

"Dean..." he said as he finally managed to grab his delirious sibling with one hand, and the lamp with the other.

Dean pulled away from him again, and wrapped the cord tighter around the lamp, and pulled as hard as he could.

Sam sighed, and grabbed him tighter. He tried once again to grab the lamp, but Dean moved it out of his reach as he continued trying to kill it. "Let go."

"D-Die," Dean growled as he continued to strangle the lamp. He looked completely insane with the mad look in his eyes, and his hair stuck up everywhere.

"Oh for crying out loud. Dean, give me the damn lamp."

With Dean weakened from being sick, Sam finally managed to get the lamp free. After straightening the lampshade, he put it back on the bedside table, then helped his brother sit up. "Dean, what the hell?"

Dean's wide green eyes darted around the room, looking for something. "Where... where di-did he go?"

"Who?" asked Sam, cupping Dean's burning face in-between both of his hands, so he could look at him.

"L-Larry."

Sam blinked in surprise. "Who the hell is Larry?"

"The l-lamp. He's possessed. He called me... a bitch."

Sam cleared his throat, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Sure. Let's get you to bed, what do you say?" he asked in a gentle voice. "You can kill... Larry tomorrow."

Dean nodded, and clung to Sam's shirt as he helped him stand. "I t-told you, Sam. He's try-trying to kill me."

"Whatever you say, Dean," Sam said, lowering Dean into the bed.

Dean watched Sam through half-lidded eyes. "Sa-" He broke off as he started coughing, his face scrunching up in pain and misery when his chest started aching.

"Hey, I got you," soothed Sam, turning him over to rub his back, trying to help him through it. He winced in sympathy when Dean continued making that wet, grating noise as his body shook and trembled. "It's alright."

After almost two minutes, the coughing fit finally ended. "Thank god," sighed Sam, turning Dean onto his back, and re-wetting the cloth in the bowl to run it over his hot face again. "There we go." While trying to cool him down, he reached over with his free hand, and got the aspirin. "Dean, I need you to take these."

Dean gave the pills a suspicious glare, but put them in his mouth, and washed them down with water. When he finished, he looked up at Sam, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh my god, there's... there's a r-rat."

"Where?" asked Sam, looking around the room. He had to tighten his grip on Dean, so he didn't do a head-dive out of the bed.

"Head," he answered, pointing up at Sam with a trembling finger.

Sam frowned, and raised his hand to pat his hair. "What are you talking about?" he asked when he didn't feel anything moving. "That's my hair."

Dean calmed down, and reached up with a trembling hand to touch Sam's messy hair. "Hairs... t-terrible."

"There's nothing wrong with my hair." Sam ran his hands through his wild hair, trying to sort it out.

"Y-You look... like Si-Sideshow Bob," whispered Dean with another cough.

"Thanks. Well, it is the middle of the night, I didn't exactly have time to brush it before I had to stop you from killing the furniture."

"What?" asked a confused Dean, blinking up at Sam, looking like a sleepy little five year old.

"Nothing. Just try to get some sleep, okay? I'll be right here."

Dean yawned, and rubbed his eyes. "What if-"

"Nobody will try to kill you while I'm here, okay? Go to sleep." Sam was tired himself, but he would stay with Dean for awhile to make sure he didn't start wrestling with any more of the furniture.

"'P-Pala?" mumbled the older Winchester, closing his eyes.

"She's fine too, Dean." Sam continued to cool Dean down with one hand, and stroked his sweat-soaked hair with the other. "Everyone's fine," he added in a soothing voice.

Dean nodded, and relaxed further into the pillows. He gasped, eyes opening as he shot up in the bed and yelled, "BATMAN!"

Sam sat staring at him for a few seconds. "Batman's not real, Dean."

"No. He... You... R-Robin."

"Uh-huh. Dean, lay down." Sam lowered Dean back onto the pillow, and covered him up with the blanket.

Dean sniffled, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Superman?" he asked quietly, before sneezing over Sam's t-shirt. "Heh- _ETCHSH_!"

"Thanks for that, Sneezy" said Sam in disgust, reaching over for some more tissue to wipe Dean's nose.

Dean grinned dopily. "Snow w-white," he said, pointing up at Sam, giggling.

Sam watched Dean with a fond expression. He didn't even know Dean could make that sound. "Sleep."

"S-Sing?" Dean whispered, closing his eyes. "Mommy sang."

Sam's heart broke slightly. He cleared his throat and started humming Metallica, smiling when Dean leaned into the hand that was on his face.

"Sleep tight, Dean," whispered Sam when he finally drifted off. The cloth continued its job of cooling the burning Winchester down.

As Sam stayed up an hour longer, taking care of his sick brother, the only sound in the room was wheezing and snuffling as Dean breathed.

**TBC**


	3. RIP Larry

The next morning, Sam got dressed, and checked on Dean. He frowned when he saw Dean was still as white as a sheet and he heard him wheezing through rattled breaths. Kneeling beside his brother's bed, he placed his hand gently on Dean's cheek, stroking the hot face gently. "Dean? Hey, can you hear me?"

Dean frowned in his sleep, his face leaning into Sam's hand. "M-Mom?"

"No. It's me, Sam... Sammy. Can you hear me?"

Dean groaned in answer, but didn't open his eyes.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm going to take care of you."

"'M f'ne," whispered Dean, burying his face in his arms, turning on his side.

"You're not fine, Dean. You look like death warmed over. I'm going to the store in a minute. I need to get some stuff. Do you need me to get you anything?"

Dean shook his head, and closed his eyes again at the dizziness it caused.

"Okay. I'll lock the door when I go, so you don't escape or anything." He laughed when Dean moved his arm to glare at him. "Try to get some more rest, okay? I won't be too long," he told him as he stood, and got his wallet and phone. "Call me if you need anything."

Sam stood at the door for a couple of minutes, staring at him. If he had to be honest, he didn't want to leave Dean, but he needed to get some supplies to take care of him.

"I'll be back soon," he called, walking out and locking the door.

After he heard Sam leave, Dean lowered his arm and glared at the lamp beside his bed. "Sh-Shut up."

His eyes narrowed as he listened to the lamp 'talk' to him. "Yo-you'll pay for that... S-Sammy's not... here now. I'm go-going to kill you," he said, reaching over for his bag, and searching through it. He threw his clothes around the room in his attempt to get to what he needed, but he didn't notice- his full focus was on killing the lamp.

"Ah-ha," he said in triumph, holding up his gun, and aiming at the lamp. "B-Bye bitch."

A loud bang echoed through the room, followed by a shattering sound.

* * *

"Hey Dean, how are you-" Sam dropped the bags when he saw Dean sitting on the bed with his gun in his hand, and the lamp shattered on the floor between the beds. "Dean?"

Dean slowly turned to Sam with a dazed look. "S'my?"

Sam put the TV on loud, so if anyone heard the shot, he could blame it on that. "Dean, what the hell?" he asked, taking the gun from his shaky hand.

"L-Larry's dead," said Dean, looking up at his little brother with huge glazed eyes.

"Yeah, I noticed. Why?"

"I-I killed... Larry. He...I...You-"

Sam put the gun in his bag, and hid it in the drawer of the bedside table. "Dean, why did you shoot the lamp?"

"He ke-kept staring at me, and... ca-calling me names. He... He called me a bitch again."

"And? You call me a bitch all the time, and I haven't shot you... yet."

Dean frowned, and tried to remember what happened. "Um... He th-threatened to kill me... th-then he laughed at me," he said with a wild look in his eyes.

"Uh-huh. Dean, lay down," said Sam, grabbing Dean by the shoulders, trying to lower him down in the bed.

"I'm n-not crazy, Sam."

"I didn't say you were. Lay down, you need to get some rest." Sam put his hand on Dean's forehead, and frowned at the heat he still felt there.

Dean looked down at the floor with a sad expression. "What... what are you going to do... w-with the body?"

"Dean, it's a lamp, not a person."

"What if someone ca-calls the p-police?"

"I doubt they'll arrest you for shooting a lamp. I'll just clean the mess up."

"What are you go-going to do with Larry?" Dean asked in a small voice.

"I'll throw it in the bin."

"He...We... We should gi-give him a pro-proper burial."

"I'm not having a funeral for a lamp."

"That's not... He's r-r-real, Sam. He-" Dean looked around the room, before eventually looking at Sam. His face suddenly crumpled. "Lar-Larry's dead," he cried, bursting into tears.

"What the-" Sam shook his head, and hugged his upset brother. "Hey, it's okay, Dean. It's alright, big brother," he said in a soothing voice, rubbing Dean's back gently as he clung to his shirt.

Sam hoped he got better soon, he hated when Dean was like this. Dean didn't get sick very often, but when he did go down, he went down hard, and stayed down for at least a week. But Sam didn't care how long it took, he was going to take care of his big brother, whether Dean liked it or not. He just hoped he didn't try to kill anything else in his delirium.

As Dean cried, he looked down at the broken lamp. "H-He's like me," he whispered, before having a sneezing fit. "Heh- _ETCHSH_!  _ISHSHOO_! KTCHSH! _HISHCH!_ "

"Dean," said Sam in disgust when Dean wiped his nose on his shirt. "That's gross."

"So... so is y-your face," said Dean, sniffling.

Sam laughed, and got some tissues to wipe Dean's nose like a mother with her child. "Shut up jerk."

"Bit-bit- _CHOO_!"

Sam sighed, and helped him get settled back against the pillows, before he wiped Dean's nose again. "There we go," he said, ignoring the death glare Dean shot his way.

Dean closed his eyes, and held his throbbing head, rubbing his chest with his free hand.

"Lay down. I'll be back in a sec," said Sam, standing from the bed, to change his shirt. After he changed, he walked over to the bags. "Soup?"

"Huh?" asked a confused Dean, clinging onto the blanket like it was his new favourite teddy bear.

"Do you want some soup?" he asked, holding up a tin. "Your favourite."

Dean shrugged, closing his eyes again. He didn't know how much time passed before Sam suddenly cleared his throat, making him jump. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam standing beside the bed, holding water and aspirin out to him.

"Here. Take these." Sam sat on the bed, and held Dean against him to help him drink the water. He frowned in concern when Dean put his face against his neck, and he felt the heat against his skin and the wheezy rattle as he breathed. "Dean, if you don't get better soon, I'm going to have to take you to see a doctor."

"No... No. P-Please, Sammy. You c-can't do that... please," he begged, grabbing a handful of Sam's shirt. "I don't... I..."

"Hey hey. It's okay. We won't go to the doctors. I'll take care of you," he soothed, he had forgotten how much Dean hated doctors and hospitals. "Shh. I'll make you some soup, okay?" He lowered Dean gently onto the bed, and rubbed his thumb against his hot forehead.

"C-Cold," wheezed Dean, a violent shiver running through his body.

"It's because of the fever, Dean. You feel cold, but you're actually hot. If it gets any higher, you're getting a cold bath." Sam ran his hands through his slightly long hair, making it messy.

"I-I don't..." Dean stopped, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at Sam.

"What?"

Dean shook his head. "No-nothing."

"I'm going to put the soup on," Sam told him, as he turned around to walk to the small kitchen. He didn't get far before Dean shot up out of the bed, and launched at him.

Sam stumbled when Dean suddenly jumped on his back, and started ragging his hair with the hand not around his neck. "Dean, what the hell?"

Dean didn't answer, he continued pulling on Sam's hair, muttering to himself.

"Dean, let me g- OW!" Sam stumbled around the motel room with his crazed brother on his back.

"I'm k-killing th-the rat," came Dean's reply, before he ripped a handful of his hair out.

"OW! DEAN!" yelled Sam, crashing into the table. "LET GO!"

"Hate r-rats." Dean started coughing again, but didn't loosen his grip.

Sam made it over near the bed, and threw himself backwards. "Dean, get off." When he felt Dean let go, he turned around and knelt over him. "For the last time, there isn't a rat on my head."

Dean looked dopily up at Sam, and raised his hand, Sam's hair falling through his fingers. "Look. H-He's dead now," he said calmly.

"That's my hair," Sam told him, wincing in pain. "I'm surprised I haven't got a bald patch. Stop trying to kill things that aren't even real."

Dean suddenly turned slightly green. "I-I feel-"

"Come on." Sam grabbed Dean gently, and helped him to the bathroom.

As soon as they reached the toilet, Dean fell to his knees, and proceeded to throw up.

"It's okay," whispered Sam, holding his weakened brother up against him, and rubbing his back.

Since Dean hadn't eaten anything for hours, there wasn't much to bring up. He spent almost five minutes dry-heaving, which made him feel even worse.

"Shh. I'm here, Dean. I'm here," said Sam in a soothing voice as he continued running his hand up and down his shaking back.

Finally Dean stopped, and fell against Sam with a groan. "Sam... I-I'm sick," he finally admitted.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," said Sam with a fond smile. "Are you ready to get up yet? Or do you want to stay here for a bit longer?"

"G-Get up," whispered Dean, shivering.

"Okay then." Sam flushed the toilet, and washed his hands, before he returned to help Dean stand up. "Are you ready?"

Dean nodded, and the two slowly made their way back to the main room. "There we go," said Sam, slowly lowering Dean back down into his bed. "I'm going to put the tin of soup on."

Dean looked up at Sam confused. "It won't... fi-fit you."

"I didn't mean I was going to wear it, I meant I'm going to cook it, you freak," he said fondly.

"Oh," said Dean, looking a little embarrassed. But it was hard to tell with the flushed cheeks.

"I know you probably won't feel much like eating, but soup is the best thing to eat when you're sick... and you need to eat something." Sam walked into the kitchen, this time without getting attacked, and poured the soup into the pan to place on the cooker.

When the soup was finished, Sam filled the bowl halfway, knowing Dean wouldn't eat that much anyway. He waited until it cooled slightly, then put the bowl on a tray, and walked over to Dean. "Right then." He put the tray on the floor, and got the pillows from his own bed. "Let's get you up," he said, sitting Dean up, bunching the pillows behind his back to make him more comfortable.

Dean moaned, and laid back against the pillow mountain, rubbing his chest again.

"Are you doing alright?" asked Sam, placing the tray on Dean's legs. "Do you want me to help you?"

"Do you want me... t-to stick this spoon up...up your ass?" asked Dean, holding the spoon up. He shivered again when he felt how cold the metal was.

Sam backed away with raised hands. "Sorry." While Dean slowly started eating the soup, Sam cleaned up the remains of 'Larry', and put it in the bin.

When he finished, Sam grabbed his phone to make a phonecall. "We're staying here for a couple of days. I'm going to call Bobby. Will you be alright on your own for two minutes?"

Dean ate a mouthful of the soup, and nodded. "I think... I can survive two minutes with-without you."

Sam nodded, and looked around the room for anything that Dean could attack, and hurt himself with, or that he could think wanted to kill him. He didn't find anything, so he walked over to open the door. "Okay. Yell if you need me. And stay in the bed."

"Mmmm," said Dean, not really listening, he was too busy staring at the spoon in his hand.

Sam watched Dean for a second, before walking out to make the call. He had to make the call outside the room, in-case Dean suddenly decided to attack the phone. He closed the door with a sigh, then dialled Bobby.

Left on his own again, Dean threw the covers off. He didn't notice he knocked the bowl over, and the soup spilling all over his bed. "It's okay. I'll make yo-you warm," he soothed, thinking in his delirium that the spoon felt the cold.

He scrunched his nose up when he felt a slight tickle. "HTSHS-ehh! Hupt _shuh_. Heh-KTCHSH! Son...bish," he whispered after his sneezing fit, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

He walked to the drawers in the little kitchen, and pulled out all of the spoons. "Don't worry... I'll make you all be-better," he whispered, hugging the spoons to his chest as he looked around the room. The glazed green eyes of the feverish Winchester found what he was looking for.

Dean shivered violently at the two handfuls of cold metal as he stumbled over to the microwave.

**TBC**


	4. Microwave and spoons

Dean placed the spoons in the microwave. "I-It's okay. I'll take care of you," he whispered to the cutlery, before closing the door. He pressed some buttons, then stood back to watch.

Outside the room, Sam was unaware of what Dean was up to as he waited for Bobby to answer. "Bobby?"

" _Hey Sam_ ," came the greeting over the phone. " _How are ya doing?"_

"Er... Can you get someone else to do the hunt you sent us on?"

 _"Sure. Why? Is Dean alright?"_  asked Bobby, knowing the only reason Sam would give up on a hunt was if something happened to Dean.

"Not really. He's sick, and has a fever."

 _"Oh. Say no more,"_ said Bobby, nodding.  _"What's he done this time?"_

"So far he's wrestled with the lamp in the middle of the night... Then shot it this morning. Then he jumped on me, and pulled some of my hair out, thinking there was a rat on my head." _  
_

Bobby chuckled. _"Do ya want to bring him to my place?"_

"Not right now. With the way he is, he'll either declare war on the steering wheel, or the cassette player... Or he'll end up jumping out of the window," said Sam, frowning when he heard movement from inside the motel room.

" _Do ya need me to come up there to help ya? I know what a handful he can be."_

Sam smiled again. "I know. He's like a child or something, but I think I can take care of him myself." _  
_

_"Alright, but if he needs anything, give me a call, okay?_ _When he's feeling better, bring him to my place for a few days."_

"Okay th-" Sam broke off when he heard yelling from their room.

 _"_ S-SAAAM! THE M-MICROWAVES POSSESSED!"

"Oh for- He's off again. I'll call you later, Bobby." After hanging up, he opened the door, and froze in shock as he took in the scene before him. "Dean, what the hell?"

Dean was standing in-front of the microwave, which was shooting sparks and making weird noises, holding his flask of holy water in one hand.

"Th-The microwaves possessed," Dean repeated, throwing more water over the kitchen appliance.

"DEAN!" yelled Sam when flames suddenly erupted from the microwave. He rushed forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him away. "Stay away from it."

Sam ran to the office next door, and asked to borrow the broom. He ran back in, and shut the power off with the broom handle, then carefully took the plug out of the wall.

Dean took a step towards the little fire. "M-Mom," he whimpered, watching the little fire with huge teary eyes. He seemed to be reliving that night when he was four, and had to watch the fire that had taken his mum away from him. "Mommy."

Sam ran to grab the small fire extinguisher that was in the corner of the room for emergencies like this. "DEAN! STAY AWAY!" he yelled over his shoulder as he extinguished the little fire. "Can't I leave you alone for two minutes?"

When the fire was out, he lowered the extinguisher and stared at the microwave, which was a mess. He shook his head, and carefully opened the door. "Dean, what the hell are you putting spoons in the microwave for? Are you trying to blow the place up?"

He didn't get an answer. Dean was standing there, staring at the microwave. "F-Fire killed mommy," he whispered brokenly.

"Hey," said Sam, walking over to him. "Look at me." He grabbed Dean's face gently, so he looked at him instead of the remains of the microwave. "DEAN! Snap out of it."

Dean's blank eyes continued staring into space. "It's o-okay, Sammy," he whispered, repeating the same thing he said that fateful night.

"Hey, look at me. It's not real, Dean. Just snap out of it, okay... please."

Dean blinked several times, finally focusing on Sam. "S-Sammy?" he asked, recognising Sam standing in-front of him.

Sam sighed in relief. "Yeah, it's me. How are you feeling, dude?"

"Wh-What happened?" asked Dean, looking around the room in confusion.

"You almost blew the motel up, that's what happened. Dean, why did you put the spoons in the microwave?"

"Er..." Dean shook himself out of his shock, and looked over at the microwave. "Oh yeah. T-The spoons... the sp-spoons were cold."

Sam gave Dean a look which clearly said WTF. "They... You...? What?"

"Th-They were cold. I had to m-make them warm again," said the older Winchester, shivering again.

"Okaaaay. Er... Dean, metal can't feel anything."

"Th-they can. They told me," said Dean, looking sadly at the remains of the spoons.

"Uh-huh. Of course they did. Dean, maybe you should lay down for a few minutes, huh?"

Dean wasn't paying attention, his focus once again on the destroyed kitchen appliance. "Fi-fire killed those... too," he whispered, blinking rapidly.

"Hey." Sam grabbed Dean's shoulders to hold him up as his head started lolling forward. "Can you hear me?"

Dean moaned, and rested his head on Sam's shoulder. His knees buckled suddenly, causing Sam to catch him.

"Whoa. Hey, I got you," soothed Sam, putting his free arm under the knees, and lifting him into his arms.

Sam sighed, and carried him to his own bed when he saw the spilled soup. He laid Dean down gently, and got the pillows from Dean's bed to make him comfortable. "Dean?" he whispered, sitting beside him. He reached over to get the cloth to wipe his flushed face, to cool him down. "Can you hear me?"

Dean moaned, his eyes fluttering slowly open to see Sam. "W-Why are you... watching me? You p-perv," he whispered weakly.

"Thank god. Are you alright?"

"Mmmm," Dean moaned weakly. "How's Mi-Michael?"

"Who the hell is Michael?" he asked, stilling the wet cloth.

"T-The microwave," answered the sick Winchester, closing his eyes again.

"The microwave is fine. Stop naming the furniture, it's freaking me out."

"Sammy... I-I'm cold," whispered Dean through chattering teeth.

Sam laid the cloth on Dean's forehead, and covered him up with the blanket. "There you go. How's that?" he asked, laying beside him on the bed.

Dean didn't seem to be listening; he was staring at something above Sam's head. "Look."

"What now?" asked Sam with a sigh.

"F-Fly. Ooh. Look h-he's waving at me," he told him, waving at the fly with a big dopey grin.

"Dean, he's not waving. He's rubbing his front two legs together."

"Aw, h-he's cute. Sam? Why are flies c-called flies?"

"Er... Because they fly, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. Bu-but there's loads... of things that f-fly like flies. But flies are th-the only thing that fly... that are called flies because they fly."

Sam looked blank for a minute. "What?"

"D-Dunno," he whispered, rubbing his eyes. "Tired, Sammy."

"Get some sleep," Sam told him, relaxing beside him. "I'll be right here."

"Oh joy. Watching me... Fr-freak me out." Dean was silent for a minute, then asked another question. "Sammy? Why are dra-dragonflies... called dragonflies? They're not d-dragons."

"I have no idea. What's with the twenty questions?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. You-you're the... geek. You're like a...a walking en-encyclopaedia." He closed his eyes, and turned to face Sam, frowning when he felt his chest tighten. Another coughing fit racked his body, making him double over.

"Crap," said Sam when he saw Dean's face turn red. "Hey, it's okay." He reached over, and rubbed comforting circles on his back, trying to help him through it.

Dean moaned, choked, and spent several minutes hacking into his hands. It was a horrible sound that made Sam want to take him to see a doctor, even though Dean hated them. Eventually the coughing fit subsided, and he relaxed again.

"It's alright," said Sam, taking the cloth, and wiping Dean's face.

Dean flinched slightly at the coldness. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"W-What if..."

"Nobody will try to kill you, okay? I'll protect you from all the evil furniture."

"Th-thanks." Silence for a minute, then Dean sneezed four times into his sleeve. "HTSHS-ehh! Hupt _shuh_! uh- _HTZZZ_ CHSH!  _PTSHCH_!" He wiped his nose, and looked up at Sam through half-lidded eyes. "Sam? Ca-can we... turn Stevie on?"

Sam blinked in surprise, the hand wiping Dean's face froze. "Excuse me?"

"S-Stevie," he wheezed, pointing a trembling hand at the small TV.

Sam was doing his best not to smile. "Not right now, no. Will you stop giving the furniture names?" he asked again. "They're not your friends... or enemies, they're not alive, okay?"

"'Kay. He-hey Sam?" whispered Dean, snuggling closer to Sam's side.

"What?"

"You kn-know the Undertaker?"

"Not personally, no. Why are you asking me about the Undertaker?"

Dean shrugged. "You know w-when... when he si-sits up? Like Michael M-Myers?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, and looked down at his brother. "Er... yeah."

"Do you think he... he does that... when h-he wakes up on... on a morning?"

"I have no idea, Dean. Will you stop with the weird questions, and go to sleep? I'll wake you up in a couple of hours for some aspirin," he said, hoping Dean would get some rest.

Dean sighed, closing his eyes. "Mmmm. Hey Sam?"

"Will you shut up and go to sleep?" Sam made sure the blanket covered Dean properly as he continued wiping his flushed face.

"Sam... Sa-am," sang Dean. "Sammy... Sa-ammy... Saaaaaammmmmmy."

"What?" asked Sam through gritted teeth.

Dean looked up at him. "Hi."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hi. Go to sleep."

"Kay." Dean laid there watching Sam for a minute. "Saaaam... Saaa-aaaammmmy... Sa-ammy... Sammy... Sammmmyyyyyyy."

Sam took a deep breath, trying not to strangle him. "What now?"

"Y-You're awesome," said Dean with a huge grin, his big green eyes still glazed with fever.

"Thanks. You're awesome too."

Dean sighed again, and finally closed his eyes. He kept them closed for several minutes, his rattled breathing evening out in sleep.

"Thank god," whispered Sam. As much as he loved his brother, he hated when he was sick.

Apart from the times he woke Dean up for some aspirin, Sam had a quiet afternoon. While Dean slept the day away, Sam cleaned the room, called Bobby back, then sat beside Dean, taking care of him. In his worry, he forgot to lock the motel door.

By seven that evening Sam was tired, since he hadn't had much sleep the night before thanks to his insane brother. He settled back against the pillows, and fell asleep beside Dean.

When Sam woke up in the early hours, it was to find the motel door wide open, and Dean stuck up a tree.

**TBC**


	5. Tree

Sam slowly opened his eyes, and raised his arms above his head as he stretched. "D'n?" he whispered when he noticed Dean wasn't in the bed.

Sitting up, he checked the other bed, but saw no sign of his sick brother. "Dean? Where are you?" he asked, getting up out of the bed, and walking over to the bathroom. "Dean?" He turned the light on, thinking that maybe Dean could have passed out while being sick.

Still no sign of him. Sam ran back into the main room, and saw the door was open. He had been too worried about Dean to notice it before. "Oh crap." He quickly got his shoes, jacket and a flashlight, before running out of the room. "DEAN! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?"

"S'm," came the distant reply.

"Dean? Where are you?" asked Sam, coming to a halt. He listened carefully for a response, but didn't receive one. "DEAN, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Sam's heart was hammering in his chest. He was seriously worried about Dean, he was sick and delirious, anything could have happened to him. His eyes widened when he had an idea. 'The Impala'. Whenever Dean was sick or he couldn't sleep, he preferred the safety of his beloved car.

Sam ran to the car to check inside, but his heart sank when he saw no sign of Dean. "Dammit," he muttered, running around the parking lot, using the light to search between the cars. He had almost finished searching when he heard another yell.

"H'LP!" came the muffled scream. "S'MY!"

Sam stopped, and aimed the light upwards. He swore it sounded like it came from the sky. "What the-" he whispered when he saw an odd looking tree a few feet away. His mouth dropped open in shock when he finally saw Dean.

The older Winchester was halfway up a tree, clinging onto the tree trunk as if his life depended on it. His green eyes were wide in his pale face as they darted around frantically.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"Sam?" asked a panicked Dean. "He-Help me."

"How did you get up there?" asked Sam, knowing it was a stupid question.

"I-I fell," he answered, arms still wrapped tightly around the tree.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You fell? How the hell did you fall up a tree?"

Dean shrugged. "D-Dunno, Sammy."

"Get your ass down here."

"I ca-can't. I'm stuck," said Dean, trembling.

"Dean, get down from the tree."

"N-NO! I can't."

"If you can climb up, you can climb down. So get down here."

"I c-can't."

"Dean. Get. Down. From. The. Tree," Sam repeated slowly.

Dean whimpered, holding on even tighter. "I do-don't like it up here, Sammy. I-It's too high."

"What did you climb up for then?" asked Sam, trying his best not to smile. But this was just ridiculous.

"I-I didn't... I woke up here."

"You woke up in a tree? That's weird since you fell asleep in a bed."

"H-Help me, Sammy," begged Dean, sounding like a child.

"Climb down. I'm right here, Dean. Just try and climb down slowly."

"NO! I-I'm scared."

Sam shook his head. He had two choices- either climb up, and get his delirious sibling down himself, or call the fire department. But he really didn't want to have to explain to them why they had to rescue his big brother from a tree. They were used to saving cats from trees, but a grown man?

"Oh for crying out loud. Dean, I'm going to get you down from there, okay?"

"Hurry," came the response.

Sam was about to climb up when one of the lights came on, and a motel door opened. "What's going on out here?" asked a man in tiger striped boxers.

"Er.. My... er... My brother was... saving a cat... and... and he got stuck up there."

"SAM! SAM! TIGER!" screamed Dean, pointing at the man below him. He closed his eyes, and started clinging onto the tree once more.

"He... Er... It was a striped cat... kind of like a tiger," Sam explained to the man, who was staring up at Dean.

The guy raised his eyebrows. "Do you want some help?"

"No thanks. I can get him down myself."

"Alright then," said the man, closing his door, and going back to bed.

Sam sighed when the room light was turned off. "I'm coming, Dean," he said, putting the flashlight into his pocket, before climbing up.

"D-Don't like it, S'my," Dean mumbled quietly.

"Shh. I'm right here. You hear me? Nothing will hurt you Dean, I promise." Why the hell did Dean have to be so insane when he was delirious?

He stopped below where Dean was, and reached for him. "Dean, I'm here," he said, frowning when he got no answer. "Dean?" He got out the flashlight with his free hand, and shone it on Dean to see his eyes were closed, and he was snoring softly.

Sam smiled, and shook his head again. Only Dean could fall asleep while stuck up a tree.

The sleeping Winchester looked so cute, clinging onto the tree fast asleep, making wheezy little snuffly noises as he breathed. Sam wished he had his phone so he could take a picture.

"Hey, wake up Dean," Sam whispered, so he didn't scare the poor guy half to death. "Wake up."

Dean sniffled, and tried to snuggle into the tree trunk, but stayed asleep.

"How the hell am I supposed to get you down?" He put the flashlight away, and carefully grabbed his upper body to lay it over his shoulder. "Whoa," said Sam when he almost lost his grip on the tree. He adjusted his sleeping sibling, so his stomach laid against his shoulder, and his arms hung limply down Sam's back. When he got a proper hold of both Dean and the tree, Sam slowly climbed down.

He was halfway down when Dean moaned and started moving. "Shh, shh. It's only me."

Dean slowly opened his eyes to see a head full of scruffy messy hair, and a tall figure carrying him. "YETI!" he screamed, struggling. "HELP! I'M GE-GETTING KIDNAPPED B-BY A YETI! SAMMY!"

"Dean, quit it," said Sam, almost falling. "DEAN!"

Dean continued struggling, he didn't know what was going on. "SAMMMMMYYYYY!"

Sam almost made it to the bottom when Dean's finger jabbed him straight in the eye, making him lose his grip. He fell the short distance, landing in a heap on the ground with Dean laying on top of him. "OW!"

Dean tried to crawl away from the 'yeti', but Sam grabbed his foot. "Dean, calm down. It's me."

"H'lp," cried Dean in a small voice, tears and sweat were pouring down his face. "S'my."

Sam reached Dean, and gently rolled him over onto his back. "Dammit," he whispered when he felt Dean's ashen face, the glazed green eyes searched everywhere, clearly looking for Sam.

"I'm going to take care of you, alright?" asked Sam in a soft soothing voice. He sat Dean up against him, and stroked the hot face for a few seconds. "It's okay. It's me, Dean." He adjusted his hold on Dean, so he could carry him in his arms. "Before you start freaking out, it's only me... It's Sammy." He stood carefully, and carried his sick brother back to their room.

Dean blinked slowly up at Sam, looking so confused it was adorable. "S'm?" He looked around, and noticed Sam was carrying him in his arms. He looked back up at him. "Yo-You saved me... There was a ye-yeti... and... and it tried to... to eat me."

Sam bit his lip so he didn't laugh. "Uh-huh."

"I-It did... It was big... an-and his hair was... w-was whoa... like a bush... and... and... he sm-smelled like... like..." Dean's nose wrinkled. "He smelled bad."

"Whatever you say, Dean. Whatever you say."

Dean laid his head on Sam's shoulder, his eyelids drooping. "Th-Thanks, S'my."

"You're welcome, Dean."

"L've ya, S'my," mumbled Dean, falling back to sleep in Sam's arms.

Sam smiled as he carried his sick brother through the parking lot. 'He's definitely out of it if he's saying he loves me,' he thought to himself.

Dean sniffled, and coughed twice against Sam's shoulder. He looked down at Dean's pale face, and felt love in his heart for the fragile, sick man in his arms.

"Love you too, big brother... Even insane, I love you too."

**TBC**


	6. Help wanted

"WHOA! OW!"

Sam shot up in bed when he heard a yell, followed by a thud. "Dean?" He looked around the room, and saw Dean in a heap in-between the beds, looking around confused. "Are you alright?"

Dean blinked owlishly, bottom lip pouted slightly as he propped his body up with one arm. "No, the floor ju-just... hit me, Sammy. B-Bad floor," he croaked, hitting the carpet with his palm.

Sam rolled his eyes, and climbed out of bed, kneeling beside his obviously still sick brother. "Hey, come on," he said in a low voice, putting his hand on Dean's arm.

As Dean flinched away from Sam, his arm gave way, and he fell face first into the carpet. "OW. He hit me ag-again... I hurt," he moaned, rubbing his nose. "The f-floor doesn't like me, Sammy."

"Let's get you back to bed, okay?"

Dean was looking up at Sam expectantly, as if he was waiting for something.

"What? What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Hit him ba-back, it's not nice to... to hit me, Sammy," said Dean with huge eyes, a childlike expression on his grey ashen face.

Sam sighed. "Dean, I'm not attacking the floor. I'm actually sane."

"But you're my bro-brother," said Dean, placing his hand on his aching chest as he started coughing.

Sam rubbed Dean's back gently, wincing in sympathy at the harsh coughs racking his frame. "Hey, it's alright." He continued rubbing his back until the coughing finally subsided. "Are you okay?" he asked, raising Dean's face slightly, so he could have a look at him.

Dean shook his head miserably and poked out his bottom lip again. "No," he pouted.

"Why? What's wrong?" asked Sam with a frown. "Are you in pain?"

"You're no-not... helping me."

"What are you talking about? I've been helping you since you got sick."

"But... but you le-let the... floor attack me, and didn't do any-anything. That's what brothers do, Sa-Sammy," said Dean in a trembling voice.

"What, declare war on a floor that... 'attacked' my insane delirious brother?"

"Yeah," said Dean, nodding frantically, making the room spin around. He closed his eyes, wincing. "Sam, now the... th-the rooms dancing. Ma-Make it stop." He covered his eyes with both hands, reminding Sam of a little boy playing hide and seek.

"So, let me get this straight, you want me to attack the floor... and hold the room still, so it'll stop dancing?"

"Please, Sa-Sammy," pleaded Dean, before sneezing over Sam's shirt. "Het- _ktchsh_ -CHUH! Huhh… _PTSHCH_ -eh! uh-uh...  _HTZZZ_ CHSH! Sorry."

Sam sighed again. "Okay, I'll do it if you promise to get back in bed, okay?" When Dean nodded, Sam thumped the floor. "Bad floor, stop attacking Dean."

Dean sniffled, and looked up at Sam with a small smile. "Th-Thanks, Sammy." He looked around the room. "The rooms still dan-dan..." he broke off, coughing again. Luckily, this coughing fit only lasted a few seconds.

"It's because you're dizzy, Dean. I bet it'll stop when you're laying down, come on." Sam gently put his hand under Dean's elbow, and slowly helped him stand up.

Dean was clinging onto Sam, eyes scrunched closed against the dizziness. "Sam, I've go-gone blind."

Sam bit his lip, trying his best not to laugh. "Open your eyes, you freak."

Dean slowly opened his eyes, and sighed in relief when he saw Sam. "Ma-Maybe we... we should salt and burn th-the... the room."

"Why?" asked Sam, lowering Dean into the bed.

The sick Winchester didn't want to lay down, and fought against Sam, but in his weak state, he only lasted a few seconds before laying back against the mountain of pillows. "It's po-possessed... keeps t-trying to kill me."

"Dean, I'm not setting the motel on fire because you've gone completely mad. Be quiet and get some rest, it's only 6 in the morning." Sam covered Dean up with the blanket, picked up the bowl, and started wiping Dean's burning face with the wet cloth.

Dean closed his eyes, moaning in pleasure when the cool cloth made contact with his hot cheek. "OH MY GOD!" he suddenly yelled, eyes going wide.

"For gods sake, what now?" asked Sam through clenched teeth.

Dean frowned, looking up at Sam. "Dunno."

"Well next time, can you have a reason for screaming oh my god?"

Dean wiped his nose on the edge of the blanket, eyes fluttering closed.

"Thank god."

* * *

At lunchtime, Sam decided to order himself a pizza from the nearby pizza hut.

As he ate, Sam divided his attention between watching a marathon of an old british comedy show- Red dwarf, and watching Dean. The episode he was currently watching was from series 5 where Rimmer contracted a holo-virus that causes him to become homicidally insane.

Sam laughed and turned to look over at Dean, and saw the green eyes staring at him, making him jerk in surprise. "Hey," he said, placing his pizza on his bed, and kneeling beside Dean. "Do you need anything?"

"T-Thirsty," Dean croaked weakly.

"I'll get you some more water," said Sam, getting up to go to the little kitchen. As he was filling the glass, he heard a noise behind him, and turned around to see Dean struggling to get out of bed. "Dean, what are you doing now?" he asked, rushing over to stop him getting up.

Dean blinked up at Sam. "We've g-got to go."

"Er... go where?" asked Sam, not taking his hands away from Dean's shoulders.

"To see th-the... the king."

"Come again."

"The... The ki-king of the potato pe-people."

Sam stared at Dean for several seconds. "Ooookay. You've completely lost it."

"L-Lost what?" asked Dean, looking up at Sam, confused.

"Nevermind. Er... The king of the potato people is asleep at this time, so why don't you get some more rest too, you can go see him tomorrow, okay?" he asked, struggling to keep a straight face.

"'Kay," Dean agreed, laying down again. "R-Remember to put the sa-salt in the microwave... and... and the d-door in the fridge," he mumbled, pulling the covers to his chin as a violent shiver ran through his body.

"Yeah, sure Dean." Once Dean was laying down, Sam ran quickly back to the kitchen to get some aspirin. "Here, take these." He grabbed the glass, and put his hand under Dean's head, lifting him slightly, so he could drink without choking. "There we go." After placing the glass back on the bedside table, he made sure Dean was comfortable, and covered him back up.

"Thanks, Sa-Sammy," muttered Dean, eyes fluttering closed.

Sam smiled down at his sick sibling. "You're welcome." Instead of sitting back on his own bed, he got his lunch, and sat on the edge of Deans to be closer to him.

"I hope you get better soon."

* * *

An hour later, Sam was picking up the last of the remaining clothes, and putting them into his duffel. He sighed and looked around the tidy room, making sure he hadn't forgot anything.

"We need a new lamp," Sam said to himself, looking over at the bedside table. He hoped the manager had a spare lamp they could use, and walked over to open the door. "Don't wake up while I'm gone." He watched Dean for several seconds, before jogging to the main office.

Two minutes later, Sam walked back in, carrying a new lamp. "There we go," he whispered, placing it where the old one used to be. "Hopefully you'll last longer than the other one did."

After plugging in the new lamp, Sam sat on the bed, and pulled out his phone. He hoped the offer was still available; it was exhausting looking after a sick and delirious Dean. He had hardly slept since Dean got sick, he either kept waking up every two hours to check on him, or he was woken up by Dean's insane actions. At least this way, Dean would still be looked after while Sam slept.

As he waited for someone to answer, Sam checked on Dean to make sure he hadn't got any worse since the last time he checked. He gently touched Dean's face, making him flinch slightly in his sleep. "Shh, it's only me," he whispered, running his fingers through Dean's sweat-soaked hair. He had to smile when he heard the little snuffly noises as he breathed.

"Oh thank god," Sam said in relief when he heard the familiar voice on the other end of the phone. "Hey, I could really use your help."

* * *

_KNOCK KNOCK!_

"I'm coming," said Sam, rushing to answer the knock at the door. He smiled at the man on the other side, and held the door open so he could come in. "Thanks for coming. I really needed another pair of hands, and you're the only one I can trust with Dean."

"Don't mention it, Sam," said the newcomer, walking over to the sick Winchester, who was currently awake, and staring at the ceiling, clinging to the blanket as violent shivers racked his body along with the rattling and wheezing as he breathed. "Holy crap, son."

Dean jumped slightly, and looked up at the man above him. Eyebrows met as he frowned, obviously confused. "Sam? Wh-Why is there a be-bear talking to me? No... No, Why is a bear wearing a ha-hat?"

Sam covered his mouth to hide a smile when he saw the look on the man's bearded face as he stared open-mouthed at the bed-ridden hunter.

The man closed his mouth with a snap, and shook his head.

"It's Bobby, ya damn idjit."

**TBC**


	7. Bathtime

Dean continued staring at Bobby with a confused expression for several minutes. "Hey Sam? Is... Yogi e-evil?"

Sam bit his lip to hide the smile which started to form. "No Dean, you're safe from any evil bears."

"Good." Dean sighed in relief, and turned slightly to the left where he saw the new lamp on the bedside table. His breathing hitched, and his green eyes widened in horror when he saw his 'enemy' back where he used to sit. "SAMMY! SA-SAMMY! LARRY'S BACK!" he yelled, struggling to get up.

"Dean," said Sam, rushing over to the bed, and holding him down gently. "Hey calm down. It's alright."

"N-NO, IT'S NOT! LARRY'S B-BACK! HE'S COME BA-BACK TO... TO KILL M-ME BECAUSE I KILLED HIM!" Dean yelled, even though it hurt his throat and made his chest ache. Sitting up, he buried his face in Sam's chest, his trembling arms going around Sam's waist. "Help me."

Sam sighed, and wrapped Dean in his arms. "Dean it's not Larry. It's..."

"W-We should've salted and... and burned him," cried Dean, gripping two handfuls of Sam's shirt. "Pl-please don't let him kill me, S-Sammy. I don't want to be k-killed by a lamp."

"Dean, it's not 'Larry the ghostly lamp', it's a normal lamp," Sam told him, running his hand up and down Dean's trembling back, trying to comfort him. "He's not going to hurt you." He looked up at Bobby, and saw the older man was struggling not to laugh.

Bobby removed the hand that was covering his face, and came closer to the bed, hand extended.

"G-Get away from me," Dean whispered when Bobby reached over to touch his forehead. "Sammy."

"I'm just checking yer temperature, keep yer frigging hair on," Bobby told him, gently placing his hand over Dean's face. "He needs a cool bath, Sam. He needs that temp down, he should've got one earlier before he got this bad."

"I know, but I didn't want to get him in the bath on my own, because he'd probably think I'm trying to kill him, or he'll end up drowning himself."

Bobby rolled his sleeves up. "Luckily I'm here to help. I'll get the bath started. Take his clothes off, and leave his boxers on."

Sam nodded, and pulled away slightly to look down at Dean. "How about we get you in a nice cold bath, huh? It'll make you feel a bit better."

Dean didn't answer, he was busy glaring at the lamp on the bedside table. "Grrrrrrr."

"Er... Dean? Hey, can you hear me?"

"The bath is running," announced Bobby, walking back into the room.

"Oh god, th-the bath ran away," Dean whispered to himself, still glaring at 'Larry'. "Your fa-fault."

Bobby stopped when he saw Dean sitting in Sam arms, growling and glaring at the lamp beside the bed. "Er... Has he completely lost it, or what?"

"Don't ask. He thinks the lamp he shot has come back to haunt him."

"Riiiiight. Lamps can't come back from the dead, Sam."

"Well, I know that. Try explaining it to deranged Dean here," said Sam, gesturing at his sick sibling. "You know as well as I do that he's completely insane when he's sick like this."

"I'LL K-K-KILL YOU!" Dean suddenly yelled, launching for the lamp, his arms held out as if he wanted to strangle it.

"Whoa," said Sam surprised at the outburst, holding onto Dean, stroking his hair to calm him down. "What the hell?"

At first Dean struggled, but soon sank back into Sam's arms. "Y-You're the... the li-little bitch," he said to the lamp. "Die."

Bobby knelt beside the bed. "Hey Winchester," he called, snapping his fingers in-front of Dean's scowling face to get his attention. "Look at me. WINCHESTER!"

Dean flinched, and turned to the older man. "Yogi?"

"Yeah sure. We need to get ya in the bath, come on." He grabbed Dean's ankles, and tugged gently. "Sam, get him up. We'll undress him in the bathroom. He needs a bath  _now_."

"Alright," he said, placing his hands under Dean's arms, and carefully standing from the bed. "Come on Dean."

As soon as the two had a hold of him, Dean immediately started struggling. "LET ME G-G-GO, YOGI! I DON'T H-HAVE A D-DAMN PICNIC BASKET!" he yelled, kicking his legs out.

"Calm down, boy. We're trying to help ya," said Bobby, tightening his grip on Dean's legs after he almost dropped him.

"G-GET OFF ME!" cried Dean, looking around the motel room. "S-Sammy is g-going to kick your ass, you fugly be-bear. I'll take your hat off, and shove it u-up your hairy ass."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up, and Sam burst out laughing at the look on his face. "WHOA!" yelled Bobby, dropping one of Dean's legs when he continued struggling. "Dammit Dean, quit it." He glared at a still laughing Sam. "Grow up, ya frigging moron."

"Sorry," said Sam, trying to regain his composure.

The two men finally managed to carry the delirious young man to the bathroom, and sat him on the toilet seat. "Right, get his clothes off, the bath should be done." He gently let go of Dean's legs, and walked over to the bath, which was almost half full.

"Hey Dean, I'm here." Sam sat in-front of his brother so Dean could see him, and started undressing him.

Dean sat staring at Sam with a confused childlike expression. "W-Whass goin' on?"

"You have a fever, we're trying to get it down," Sam told Dean, taking his t-shirt off. "You're getting a cold bath."

"Th-The bath came back?" asked Dean with a hopeful expression on his pale face.

"Er... Yeah, it came back a minute ago," Sam told him, knowing the best way to deal with delirious Dean was to agree with him.

"H-He ran away, Sammy."

"I know, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bath Dean Winchester, so he came running back."

Dean grinned, but the smile suddenly dropped. "I-I'm not gay." He fidgeted on the toilet seat, his body twisting away from Sam's hands.

"Stay still." Sam finally got the shirt over Dean's head, and started pulling his trousers off next.

"S-Stop taking my clothes o-off," said Dean, struggling again. "Stop it. L-Larry will see me na-naked. Lamps don't have... men's things. H-He'll try and take mine."

"For gods sake," muttered Bobby, turning off the taps, and walking back to the two men. "I'll hold the nutcase still." He knelt beside the toilet, and held tightly to Dean's burning body. "Stay still, son."

As the older man held him in his arms, Dean's struggles intensified. "Get off m-me."

Sam grabbed the top of Dean's pants, and pulled them down. Dean's legs started flailing again, so Sam accidentally grabbed Dean's boxers and pulled them down too. "Oops," he said, holding the pants and underwear in his hands. "Oh no." He slowly looked up, and was greeted by a naked Dean being restrained by Bobby.

Dean struggled wildly against Bobby, elbowing him in the face. "Ha," he cried triumphantly as he broke free. He kicked his leg, and hit Sam in the face, knocking him back.

"OW!" yelled Sam, rubbing his face. "Dean, what the hell?"

"D-Don't come near me," said Dean, grabbing his boxers, and holding them up like a slingshot. "I'll hu-hurt you."

"Dean, threatening us with your underwear isn't exactly terrifying," said Sam, sitting up.

Dean's eyes widened when the two men got up. "NO!" he yelled, turning and running around the motel room, completely naked.

"GET BACK HERE, YA FRIGGING LUNATIC!" yelled Bobby, running out of the bathroom, and chasing the naked Dean.

"N-NO! You're going to drown me, and sa-sacrifice me to Larry," said Dean over his shoulder, wrapping the boxers around his head. "B-But you'll have to k-kill me first." He knocked everything over as he passed, trying to keep the other two away. When he made it to the small kitchen, he knocked the chairs over behind him to prevent Sam and Bobby from catching him.

"OW!" yelled Sam, hitting his foot on one of the chair legs.

Dean searched through the kitchen drawers for a weapon. "Ah-ha." He grinned and held up a fork, backing up until he hit the counter. "S-Stay back."

Sam burst out laughing again at the sight of Dean naked, boxer shorts on his head, and holding up a fork to threaten them both.

"Freddy and S-Stevie are on my side."

"Who the hell are Freddy and Stevie?" asked a bewildered Bobby.

"Stevie's the TV, and apparently the fork is named Freddy," Sam told him through his laughter. "He's named the furniture. And they're either his friends, or trying to kill him... apparently."

While Sam was busy introducing Bobby to Dean's 'friends', the sick Winchester headed over to the small fridge, and found the eggs. "Oooh. Eggies." He opened the carton, and turned around. "A-ATTACK!" he yelled, throwing an egg straight in Bobby's face,

Sam doubled over with laughter, even as Bobby started glaring at him with egg dripping down his face.

Dean continued throwing his weapons, and ran for the door.

"DEAN!" yelled Sam when he finally stopped laughing at seeing his naked brother trying to get out of the room.

"OH NO YA DON'T!" yelled Bobby, running to the door.

Dean managed to get out again, and ran out into the parking lot, still firing eggs at the two men.

"Oh crap," said Sam, speeding up. He ducked as eggs went flying in his direction, and tackled Dean to the ground. "For gods sake, Dean. What the hell are you doing?"

Dean frantically waved the fork in-front of him, panicking at being held down.

"Will you quit it?" he said, grabbing the fork from Dean's shaking hand before he scratched his eyes out.

"S-Sammy," Dean whimpered, looking up at Sam with a wounded expression. "You fell on me. W-Why did you fall on me? Was I bad?"

"I'm trying to stop you from running around the parking lot as naked as the day you were born," Sam told him, as he shifted his position, so he was kneeling at Dean's side.

Bobby appeared and grabbed Dean's legs again. "Sam, get his arms. We need to get the nutcase cooled down before he terrorises the motel residents with his nakedness."

Sam nodded, put his arms around Dean, and stood up. "Come on, Rambo. Let's get you in the nice cool bath."

This time, carrying Dean to the bathroom was easier, since his strength seemed to have left his sick body, leaving him weakened. "S-S'my?" he whimpered, his head falling back against Sam's chest. "Why doesn't Y-Yogi like me? H-He's looking at me like dinner."

"Stop going insane, and he might like you," Sam told him, before him and Bobby reached the bath, and started lowering Dean into the cool water.

Dean screamed when the cold water made contact with his hot skin. "HE-HELP ME!" He tried to escape, but Sam and Bobby tightened their grips until his body was fully in the water.

"It's alright, we've got you," soothed Sam, keeping his arm around Dean's shoulders to keep him upright, so he didn't end up drowning himself. He took Dean's boxers off his head, and threw them to the other side of the bathroom.

Dean struggled as if his life depended on it, but Sam wasn't letting him go. "Dean, chill out."

"L-L-Lemme o-out," said Dean through chattering teeth. After a minute of struggling, he was too weak to fight anymore and sank into Sam's arms.

Bobby dipped the washcloth in the water, and started cooling the sick young man down. "It's okay, son."

Dean whimpered in pain. "Hurts, S'my."

"Shh. It's alright big brother. I won't let anyone hurt you," Sam told him in a soothing voice, gently wiping Dean's burning face. "Try and stay calm. Yog- I mean Bobby's not going to hurt you."

Dean frowned in discomfort as violent shivers racked his body. "C-C-Cold."

"We know, but it's going to help you."

"HUTCH _shoo_!" sneezed Dean suddenly, his slippery body almost falling out of Sam's grasp. "Huhh… _PTSHCH!_  KTSHSH _chuh_!"

"Whoa. I got you."

After the sneezing fit ended, Dean looked up at Sam, blinking rapidly so he could focus on just one Sam instead of the three that danced in-front of him. "W-We g-g-g-go see th-the... the king n-now?"

"Er... No dude. We're not going to see the king of the potato people yet. He's still asleep."

"Kay. I-I don't li-like to f-f-fly anyway," he said, sniffling and wiping his nose. "W-We don't h-have a ma-magic c-c-c-carpet."

"I know," said Sam, trying his best not to laugh. "When he wakes up, we'll drive there in the Impala, okay?"

"Kay." Tears swam in Dean's eyes as they fluttered closed, his body relaxing into Sam's arms which tightened around him to keep him upright. "S'my, am I-I g-g-going to di-die?" he asked, shivering violently.

Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he lowered his head so he could look into Dean's face. "Hey look at me." He waited until Dean looked up at him. "Of course you're not going to die, you're just sick. Me and Bobby will make you better."

"B-B-But Larry..."

"If it'll make you feel better, I'll put... Larry somewhere else, okay?" Sam ignored Bobby when he started chuckling.

"Yogi's la-laughing at m-m-me," whispered Dean, staring at the 'bear' through his half-lidded eyes. "Why's h-h-he laughing?"

"Because... er... he's your friend, and you make him laugh," Sam explained. "But if you're good, he'll give you a nice special bear hug later, okay?"

Dean's face lit up like a kid at Christmas. "Re-Really? T-The bear's m-m-my friend?"

"Yeah. He's a nice friendly bear." Sam grinned, looking up to see Bobby shaking his head, and rolling his eyes.

A coughing fit suddenly ripped through Dean, making him moan with pain in his throat and chest. He tried to curl in on himself, turning his hot face into Sam's chest, his left hand clutching his own chest while he coughed his lungs out.

After the coughing fit finally subsided, Dean's face scrunched up in misery. "Sa-am, I don't feel go-good."

"I know. It's alright," soothed Sam, rubbing Dean's chest, trying to help.

Dean nodded, and closed his eyes again. After a few seconds, he fell asleep.

"The last time I had a naked Winchester running around at bathtime was when ya were about three... me and Dean had to chase ya around the whole frigging house. Ya kept getting excited about having a doodle, and had to show everyone."

Sam's cheeks reddened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "You're not going to tell anyone about that, are you?"

Bobby grinned evilly. "Oh, I have plenty of embarrassing stories, so ya may want to think again about telling everyone about the things Dean's been up to. Tell them, and they may hear about that time when ya tried to bite yer dads nose off, thinking he was a clown."

Sam groaned. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Yer welcome," said Bobby, still grinning. He grabbed Dean's left arm, and wiped it with the sponge. Bathing a naked Dean didn't really bother him, since he had bathed the Winchesters when they were kids, and they were left at his house.

Sam watched Bobby cool Dean's torso down. He was really glad Dean was asleep right now, otherwise he would start screaming and kicking again at the sight of a 'bear' washing his naked body.

Bobby hummed while he gently ran the sponge over Dean's shoulders and neck. "Aw," he said quietly, his expression softening as he looked up to see Dean sleeping peacefully in Sam's arms, the rattle of his breathing was the only sound he made.

"Shh, it's alright," said Sam when Dean flinched as the cool water touched his burning neck.

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby put the sponge down. "Leave him in here for another minute. Hopefully this will cool him down. Where are the towels?"

Sam nodded at the other side of the small bathroom. Bobby thanked him, and walked over to grab two of them. "Are ya ready?"

"Yeah. At least it'll be easier with him out cold," said Sam, standing up carefully with Dean in his arms. "Wrap it around him."

Bobby nodded, and carefully put the bigger towel around Dean's naked body. When Dean was covered, he fondly ruffled his hair, and smiled. "The poor kid."

"Yeah, poor him," said Sam sarcastically, carrying Dean back to bed. "Bobby, pass me a fresh pair of boxers from Dean's bag. He'll hopefully be a bit cooler in just his underwear."

"Sure." Bobby got Dean's bag, and riffled through it until he found a clean pair of boxers. "Here."

"Thanks," said Sam as he dried Dean, and covered him in a blanket. "Thank god he passed out." He kept Dean covered, and put the clean boxers on under the blanket, so he didn't see any more of Dean's nakedness. "There we go."

Bobby picked up the first-aid kit and rummaged through it until he found the thermometer. "Here, see how much it's gone down."

Sam took the thermometer and placed it in Dean's mouth. He waited for a minute, before taking it out, and sighed when he saw the reading. "It's only gone down a little bit."

"At least it's gone down," said Bobby with a shrug. "We'll keep giving him aspirin every few hours, and continue cooling him down. Every day or two, we'll give him more cold baths."

"Hopefully it won't be as bad as it was this time," said Sam, unplugging the lamp, and placing it under the bed, so Dean didn't declare war on it again when he woke up. "It usually takes a few days for him to recover when he's like this, but at least he won't be trying to kill the lamp again." Before he sat down, he grabbed the washcloth, and ran it down Dean's still burning face. "Thanks for coming, Bobby."

"Yer welcome. Why don't ya get some rest too?"

"I can't," Sam replied, yawning. "He needs me."

"Sam, the reason ya called me was to help with Dean, and so ya could get some rest."

Sam looked down at Dean, and ran his fingers gently down his flushed cheek. "Promise you'll wake me if he needs me?"

"I promise."

"Okay, but only because I'm exhausted." Sam handed the cloth over to the older man, and laid down next to Dean. "You're going to be alright," he whispered, laying his head on Dean's shoulder. "'Night Dean."

Dean slept on, snoring softly, making snuffly noises as he breathed.

Bobby smiled again as he watched Sam fall asleep right beside his sick brother. He sat in the chair Sam had been using, and continued the job Sam had trusted him with.

**TBC**


	8. Excorcism

 

It was midnight when Sam woke up to see Bobby struggling to keep Dean in the bed.

"WE... WE HAVE T-TO EXORCISE HIM!" Dean was yelling as he fought against Bobby.

"Dean, will ya stay in the bed, ya frigging lunatic. Yer sick."

"What's going on?" muttered Sam, sitting up, and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

Bobby sighed, and placed both hands on Dean's shoulders to keep him in the bed. "He thinks we should exorcise the lamp. I keep telling him the lamp is gone, but he won't listen to me."

Sam rolled his eyes, and turned to Dean. "Hey Dean, how are you feeling?"

"Yogi won't let... let me ki-kill Larry," moaned Dean, looking up at Sam with a miserable expression.

"That's because Larry's not real," Sam told him, running his fingers through Dean's sweat-soaked hair.

"He is... He ke-keeps laughing at me."

"Who? Yo... I mean Bobby or the lamp?" Sam had to ask.

"L-Larry. We have... have to kill h-him again, Sam... before he kills u-us all." Dean grabbed Sam's wrist, and held tight. "H-He's tried to kill you... you before. He's evil, S-Sammy."

"Er... When did the lamp attack me?"

"W-When... When we w-went back... home," Dean told him with a sad expression. "S-Saved you from La-Larry."

Sam frowned, trying to work out what his insane brother was going on about, and suddenly remembered the tightening around his neck as he was strangled by a lamp cord. "Oh right. That was Larry, was it?"

"Y-Yeah," answered Dean, nodding. "And now he wan-wants to kill me. He... his body died... but he didn't. Goes to an-another."

"A lamp demon? I've heard it all now," Bobby muttered to himself.

"Dean, it wasn't the lamp that was alive, it was the spirit in the house, remember?"

"NO! H-He's real, Sammy," Dean croaked in a hoarse voice, eyes shining with tears as he pleaded with him. "T-The lamp is evil... P-Possessed. Please don't let him... ki-kill me."

Sam closed his eyes, and silently counted to ten so he didn't end up killing him himself.

"P-Please Sammy. Please."

Sam opened his eyes, and looked down at him. The expression on Dean's face broke his heart; he looked like a child asking his parents to get rid of the monster in the closet. "Okay," he sighed, stroking his hair soothingly, before looking over at Bobby. "Get the holy water, the book, and start an exorcism."

Bobby stood staring at Sam, wondering if he had finally lost it too.

"It's the only way, Bobby. Otherwise, he'll never get any real rest if he keeps getting paranoid about a killer lamp."

"Fine," he agreed, shaking his head. "Where's the bag?"

"Under my bed," answered Sam, sitting closer to Dean, and adjusting him so he could sit in his arms. "Hey Dean, we're going to get rid of... Larry for good, okay?"

Dean nodded, and nuzzled his face against Sam's cool neck. "Mmmm. Thanks S'my."

"You're welcome," whispered Sam, tightening his grip slightly.

Bobby grabbed the bag, and placed it on the bed. After taking out the things he needed, he brought the lamp out from under the bed, and placed it on the kitchen table.

"B-Burn in... hell, b-bitch," rasped Dean, shivering in Sam's arms.

Bobby chuckled, and opened the book to the right page. Leaving the cap on the holy water, he pretended to sprinkle the water over the lamp, and began the exorcism.

_"Regna terrae, cantate Deo,_ _psallite Domino_ _qui fertis super caelum_ _caeli ad Orientem_ _Ecce dabit voci Suae_ _vocem virtutis,_ _tribuite virtutem Deo..."_

In Dean's delirious mind as he watched the exorcism, he saw the lamp shake, and heard him screaming, begging Dean for help. An evil smile, saved only for Demons, crossed his face when he saw a dark cloud leave the lamp, and slowly start drifting upwards.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_ _omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio_ _infernalis adversarii, omnis legio,_ _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..."_

Dean shivered violently, and looked up at the ceiling. "H-He's gone," he whispered, relaxing against Sam, suddenly feeling nauseous.

"Thank god," sighed Sam, hoping now the lamp was 'exorcised', it would be the end of Dean's ramblings about it trying to kill him.

Dean swallowed heavily against the sudden sickness he felt. "I-I don't feel..." Before he could finish, Dean threw up all over himself and Sam, missing the bed entirely.

"DEAN!"

"S-S'ry," mumbled Dean, his stomach rolling and once more sending the muscles in his already sore throat convulsing as he started dry heaving.

"Hey hey, take it easy," soothed a worried Sam, rubbing circles on his back. His other hand cupped Dean's burning sweaty forehead, bracing his body, so he didn't collapse forward into the sick.

Leaving the things on the table, Bobby joined his boys, and tried to help by rubbing Dean's stomach gently. "It's alright, boy. We've got ya. Shh."

Dean whimpered, his stomach feeling like it was trying to retch up his organs, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his face pale and sweaty. This always felt even worse than actually being sick.

The violent heaving finally subsided a couple of minutes later, leaving him exhausted. "Ugh," he moaned, collapsing back against Sam.

"Here, drink this," Sam told him, holding a glass of water in-front of him.

Taking a mouthful of water, Dean swished it around his mouth, and spat it back out in the tissue that Bobby was suddenly holding. "Thanks," he whispered, taking a proper drink to soothe his throat.

"Get him in the bathroom to clean him up," said Bobby, placing his hand on Dean's trembling back.

Sam looked worriedly at Bobby, and nodded, before placing the glass back on the bedside table. "Okay. Come on, big brother. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I've got him, Sam." Bobby gently grabbed Dean's shoulders, and pulled him away from Sam, so he could get up from the bed.

Dean grinned up at Bobby, and croaked in a weak voice, "Y-Yogi... Can I have a... a bear hug n-now? Sammy said you would."

Bobby chuckled, and wrapped his arms tightly around the sick young man to give him a big hug. "There ya go, ya idjit."

"Right, you've had your hug," said Sam, coming to stand by the two. "Come on."

"Noooo. I like Y-Yogi," said Dean, snuggling closer to Bobby's chest. "H-He's my friend now... He k-killed Larry."

A soft smile crossed Bobby's face as he held Dean, ignoring the fact that he was covered in sick.

"Dean, you've got sick all over you," Sam told him, putting his hands on his hips. "We need to get you cleaned up."

Dean pouted, but moved away from Bobby slightly to look up at Sam.

"Hey Bobby, can you get me a clean pair of clothes, and get Dean a fresh pair of boxers, while we're in the bathroom?" asked Sam, wrapping Dean's arm around his shoulders, and gently lifting him from the bed. "I've got you." As soon as he got Dean on his feet, Sam put his arm around his waist, and slowly helped him to the bathroom.

"I'll be there in a sec, Sam."

Making it to the bathroom, Sam made Dean stand in-front of the sink. "Hold onto the sink, okay? I'll clear the stuff from the toilet seat, then you can sit down."

Hands gripping the sink, Dean nodded, closing his eyes against the dizziness. "Kay S'my," he whispered, opening his eyes to see a pale freckled face staring back at him, which was identical to his own. "Sammy S-Sammy Sammy... There's a sh-shapeshifter..." As he spoke, he noticed the other one copy him. "Sammy."

"What are you talking about now?" asked Sam, coming to stand by Dean. He saw what the problem was, and sighed. "It's not a shapeshifter,"

"He keeps... co-copying me," Dean told Sam, pointing a trembling finger at the other Dean, who was pointing back at him. Luckily, Sam was holding him up, otherwise he would have fallen to the floor.

Sam stared at him. "Er... Dean? That's a mirror. The other Dean is you, it's your reflection not a supernatural monster, you weirdo. Look, there's me..." He waved his free hand, and the reflected Sam waved back.

Dean blinked a few times, looking the picture of confused.

"Sit down, come on," said Sam, walking Dean over to the toilet, sitting him down carefully on the seat. He was glad Dean didn't try and punch the mirror, he didn't want to add a shredded hand to Dean's list of symptoms.

Bobby came into the bathroom with the changes of clothes. "Get yerself cleaned up," he said, soaking a towel in the sink. "I'll clean Dean up."

Sam looked down at himself, and reluctantly left his brother in Bobby's care. "I'll just be a sec, okay Dean?"

Dean didn't answer, he was busy smiling dopily at Bobby.

"Here we go," muttered Bobby, wiping the sick from Dean's chin and chest. "I bet that feels better, huh?"

"Mmmm," agreed Dean, reaching out his hand to touch Bobby's bearded face, making the older man smile.

Changing his clothes quickly, Sam appeared beside the toilet, grabbing hold of Dean's hand. "How are you feeling now?"

Dean shrugged, closing his eyes as he started listing to the side.

After cleaning and changing Dean into another pair of boxers, Sam manoeuvred him so that he was in his arms, an arm across his back and the other under his knees as he lifted him from the seat. "Let's get you back to bed."

"Not... w-with you," mumbled Dean, hiding his face against Sam's neck.

Sam laughed. "Don't worry, you're not my type," he told him, placing him in the bed, and covering him up.

"Are ya hungry, kid?" Bobby asked Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No." Dean started rubbing his eyes with his fists, looking like a child at bedtime. He flinched when he suddenly felt something wet on his cheek. Moving his hands, he looked up to see Sam running the wet cloth over his face.

Bobby turned on the lamp, which he had put back on the bedside table. "Take these," he said, shaking out two aspirins, and holding them out to the sick young man with a glass of water.

"Thanks. Ugh... Uh." Dean took the water in a slightly trembling hand, and swallowed the pills. Passing the glass back to Bobby, Dean's nose started scrunching up as he felt a tickle in the bridge of his nose. "Uhhh. A-A-A-Huh..."

"Are you alright?"

Sniffling, Dean pointed at his nose, shaking his head. "Can't... HUH-Heh... Huhh _HHH..._ ugh. Huh- _ehhh_ HH... Sn-Sneeze." Growling, he threw his head back on the pillows in frustration, he hated when he needed to sneeze but he couldn't.

"I've got an idea," Sam announced, getting in Dean's face. "BOOOO!"

"Er..." Dean and Bobby stared at Sam, wondering if he had gone mad or something. "What the hell was that?" asked Bobby, eyebrows so far up, they disappeared under his hat.

"I'm trying to scare him, to make him sneeze."

"That's hiccups, ya damn moron. Ya can't scare someone into sneezing."

Sam blushed slightly. "Oh yeah. I always get those mixed up."

Dean had his own idea, and looked up at the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. After a few seconds of staring, it worked. "Het- _ktchsh_ -CHUH! Huhh… _PTSHCH_ -eh!  _Hptch_ -shuh! Huh- _ETSHCHSH_! _HTCHSH_ -uh." After his sneezing fit, Dean sighed, and closed his eyes with a smile.

"How did you do that?"

Dean shrugged, and looked up at Sam. "D-Dunno. Looking at a bright light a-always makes me sn-sneeze."

"Huh. That's weird. Do you want to watch some TV?"

"Kay," nodded Dean, laying back against the mountain of pillows.

Bobby sat on Dean's other side with the bowl and cloth, trying to get his temperature down. He tried not to listen when Sam started talking to Dean in a low voice.

"Get better soon, big brother. You hear me," Sam whispered, ruffling the sweat-soaked hair.

**TBC**


	9. Slightly mad

"Come on Dean. It's three in the morning, you need rest," Sam told his brother two days later, the wet cloth in his hand. Dean had been restless the past three hours, and didn't seem to be able to settle down.

Dean whimpered, and threw the covers from the bed. "Sammy," he whined sleepily, curling in on himself. When he still couldn't get comfortable, he turned over and hid his hot pale face against his arms.

Sam picked up Dean's duffel and brought out his walkman. Picking out his mixed 'Queen' tape, he placed it into the player, and rewound it to the beginning before sitting beside Dean and putting the buds into his ears.

"Here, see if this will help," said Sam, pressing 'play'. Music was always one thing that calmed Dean down, he just hoped it worked this time.

Dean jerked slightly when 'We are the champions' started playing into his ears. A smile crossed his face, and he relaxed slightly, humming along to the song.

Bobby was watching the scene from the other bed. "How's he doing? Is that working?"

"Shh," said Sam, holding one hand up to the older man. He waited until Dean's eyes closed and he completely relaxed, before answering. "I think so."

"Finally," sighed Bobby, picking the blanket back up to cover the feverish body of the sick Winchester.

Sam smiled, and continued running the wet cloth over Dean's cheeks. He looked over at Bobby, who yawned and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Hey Bobby, why don't you have a little rest? You haven't slept in the two or three days you've been here."

"Are ya sure?"

"Yeah. I had a few hours earlier, I'll be alright for a few more hours. Take my bed, I'll be staying here with Dean to make sure he's okay."

"Alright," agreed Bobby, laying down in the other bed. "Wake me up if he needs anything."

"Okay Bobby. Thanks for helping," whispered Sam, so he didn't wake Dean up.

"Don't mention it."

* * *

It was 6 in the morning when Dean woke up to a ringing noise. "W-What's that?" he asked, looking around. He didn't notice the walkman falling down to the bed as he sat up.

'Yogi' wasn't in the room, but Sam was sleeping beside him, the drying cloth in his right hand.

The glazed green eyes landed on Sam's phone, which was ringing and vibrating on the bedside table. Frowning, Dean reached over and picked it up. "Sh-Shut up," he whispered, pressing some buttons at random.

The next thing he knew, the thing in his hand started talking to him and calling him an idjit. "Go a-away," he whispered, bottom lip poking out. The phone still wouldn't shut up, so he climbed from the bed, and carried the phone to the bathroom.

After throwing Sam's phone down the toilet, Dean stumbled back into the room and laid back down in his bed. He jerked in surprise when he laid on something cold and lumpy. He picked it up, and started pressing a button at random, blinking in confusion when a whirring noise came from the player.

His breath caught when he felt a cough building in his aching chest. Rubbing his chest, he rolled to the side, coughing into the crook of one arm, trying not to wake Sam, even as his whole body shook.

After nearly hacking up a lung, Dean groaned and collapsed against the pillows, looking at Sam, who luckily was still sleeping. He picked the walkman up, and pressed another button. Music played faintly from somewhere, making him look around until he saw the earphones beside him. He remembered Sam putting them into his ears, so that's what he did.

He smiled when a song played into his ears. "I like you. You're n-not nasty to me. Y-You sing good." He listened to the singing for a few seconds, the smile on his face getting wider. He liked this song, so he was soon nodding and trying to sing along.

When it finished, Dean fiddled with the buttons again, trying to get that song back on.

* * *

"…A-ARE THEY TRYING TO TE-TELL YOU SOMETHING... YOU'RE MISSING THAT O-ONE FINAL SCREEEEW…"

Still asleep, Sam frowned, trying to bury his head under the pillow. But the sound continued, making him groan. 'What the heck is that?'

"…YOU HA-HAVEN'T... GOT... GOT A CLUE... Het- _ktchsh!_ Huh- _hitchsh_! _..._ I'M GO-GOING SLIGHTLY MAD..."

Sam's eyes fluttered open, wondering if there was a parade of dying cats outside. Sitting up in bed, his eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open in shock when he saw Dean in his boxers, with his Walkman attached to them, singing his head off as he danced around the motel room with a wok.

"...I'M O-ONE CARD... SH-SHORT OF A FULL DECK, I'M NOT QUITE... THE... T-THE SHILLING! ONE WAVE SHORT OF...  _At_ choo! _..._ SHIPWRECK!"

Bobby came into the room, armed with soup and a bag from the pharmacy, and froze when he saw the delirious Winchester rocking out. "What the hell?"

"…THIS KETTLE IS... Huh- _ETSHCHSH_!... IS BO-BOILING OVER, I THINK I'M... I'M A BANANA TR-TREEEEEEE…" sang Dean, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of one hand. "I'M GOING SL-SLIGHTLY MAD..."

Bobby and Sam looked at each other in shock. "I think it might be 'men in white coats' time," said Bobby with wide eyes.

Sam nodded silently, then they both turned back to the deranged lunatic that was dancing around the motel room in his underwear, doing a guitar solo with a wok.

"I'M KN-KNITTING WITH ONLY... ONE N-NEEDLE…" wheezed Dean, before launching into another coughing fit that had him doubling over and moaning.

The other two men were in too much shock to move.

The coughing fit ended half a minute later, then Dean straightened up, swaying slightly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. "IT F-FINALLY... HAPPENED, I'M SLIGHTLY... MAAAAAAAAAD!" he finished, before promptly passing out in a heap on the floor.

"DEAN!" yelled Sam, recovering from his shock after seeing his sick brother collapse unconscious. He shot up off the bed, and ran over to his motionless sibling.

Bobby stood there for a few more seconds, before running over to the boys. "What the hell was that about?" he asked Sam, who was gently removing the Walkmans earphones from his ears.

"I have no idea, but he's still burning up," answered Sam, taking the wok, and passing it over to Bobby, who put it on the small kitchen counter. "Don't even ask where he got the wok from. Come on, you loony," he said, placing his arms under Dean's back and his knees, lifting him into his arms to carry him back to bed.

As Sam laid Dean gently onto the bed, Bobby placed his hand under his head to set it onto the pillow. "Do ya think the fever might have fried his brains?"

"Probably." Sam reached over for the cloth, and re-wet it. "Dean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, the cloth brushing down Dean's too-hot cheek. "Come on Dean. Wake up," he pleaded, chewing on his bottom lip, waiting for a response. "Please. If you don't… I'm going to take you to a doctor. No, no, no, wait. If you don't wake up, I'll scratch the Impala with a screwdriver."

As if threats to his beloved car were the magic words, Dean's eyes started fluttering and he moaned quietly.

"Hey, I need you to open your eyes Dean," whispered Sam, squeezing Dean's hand in his free one. "Come on… Open those eyes, and look at me."

Dean's eyelids fluttered open to reveal fever-bright eyes shining with tears. He moaned again miserably, his throat burning, his chest aching and his head pounding. He felt like he had been run over by a steam roller.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" asked Sam worriedly, stroking Dean's hair back from his sweaty forehead.

"Wh-What… happened?"

"Oh, just a mad man dancing around the room, before passing out," Bobby told him, trying not to grin.

"Who?" asked a confused Dean, looking around the room.

"You, you moron," answered Sam, continuing to cool him down.

Dean frowned, trying to remember. "I didn't pass out. I uh… I fe-fell asleep."

"You fell asleep?" asked Sam, eyebrows shooting up. "Standing up?"

"Yeah. I-I got bored."

Sam rolled his eyes fondly. "Of course you did."

"With that singing, I'm not surprised ya got bored," said an amused Bobby.

"Yeah. You're no Freddie Mercury, that's for sure," Sam joked, grinning over at the older man.

Bobby winked back, and added, "Nevermind Freddie Mercury... That singing would give Freddy Krueger nightmares."

"L-Leave me..." Whatever Dean was about to say next was lost in another fit of coughing that had him choking and hacking, sounding as though he was trying to expel something, but nothing came up. He curled into a foetal position, face hidden in the crook of one arm as he coughed and whimpered.

Bobby got up off the bed, so Sam tried to help Dean. "I've got you," soothed Sam, rubbing his back, trying to soothe away the aches inside the sick body.

When Dean finally stopped coughing, he was gasping for breath and curled on his side, one hand clutched to his chest. "...Alone."

Bobby sat on the bed beside the brothers, holding out a medicine cup of pinkish liquid, and two pills. "Here, take these. I've just bought them."

"Come on Dean," said Sam, sliding his hand under Dean, and sitting him up beside him to help him take the aspirin, and swallow the cough syrup.

Dean grimaced, and hid his hot face against Sam's neck. "Ugh. T-That tastes like... ass."

Sam laughed, and helped him lay back down, rearranging the pillows behind him. "There you go. Comfy?"

"F-Freezing," whispered Dean in a weak voice, shivering violently.

"Bobby, pass me that," said Sam, pointing at something across the room.

Bobby brought over the hoodie, and gave it to Sam.

"Thanks. Here Dean, put this on," said Sam, holding his hoodie. He didn't wait for Dean to answer, before he helped him sit up again, settling him against his chest while he guided the shivering limbs through the sleeves and zipped the hoodie up.

Dean blinked up at him blearily, his dark blond hair stuck up in every direction, his brow furrowing as he looked around the room, making him look like a lost child. "S'my," he muttered, relaxing back against Sam's chest.

"It's okay," Sam whispered, wrapping his arms around the furnace that was Dean.

Bobby covered him up properly with the blanket, then picked up the cloth. "Here, let's try getting ya cooled down... and sane."

"Y-Yogi," said Dean with a weak grin.

Bobby smiled back at him. "It's alright son."

A growling noise suddenly came from Dean's stomach, making him jump and cling onto Sam's t-shirt. "Sa-Sammy Sammy, Yogi wants to eat m-me."

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh. "It's your stomach, you freak. You've barely eaten in days, you're hungry."

"I-I am?" asked Dean, his trembling hand reaching down to hold his stomach.

"I'll make some soup," said Bobby, handing the cloth over to Sam, and standing from the bed.

Dean groaned, and closed his eyes as the cold wet cloth was soothingly brushed down his hot, flushed cheek. "Nice," he croaked weakly.

"That feel good?"

"Mmmm," the sick young man sighed, a tiny smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He frowned when he felt a familiar tickle in the bridge of his freckled nose. "Huh- _hitchsh_ -uh! Hetch _SHUH_!  _HA_ -etchsh! ISZH _hoo_! Ugh... Sh-Shoot me."

"You're going to be better soon," Sam promised, whispering into his ear softly. "As long as there are no more concerts in the middle of the room... and no more declaring war on the furniture. Me and Bobby will look after you."

Bobby watched Sam whispering reassurances to Dean from the kitchen as he stirred the soup in the pan with the big wooden spoon he had found in the drawer. It was easy to see how much those boys loved each other.

When the soup was heated, the older man poured some into a bowl, and looked for the spoons. "Where are the... Oh yeah."

"Go ask the motel manager if he has any spoons."

"I'll pour it into a cup instead." Bobby grabbed a cup from beside the kettle.

"The sp-spoons were c-cold," said Dean, a violent shiver racking his body.

"We know," Sam told him, smiling fondly. He looked up when Bobby sat next to Dean, holding the cup to his face. "Here son, drink."

Dean brought his trembling hands up to cover Bobby's, and took a small sip of the hot thick soup. His stomach growled again as he drank hungrily; he had barely eaten since he got sick.

"Slowly. We don't want ya to be sick again." As Bobby helped Dean drink the soup, Sam continued his own job of cooling him down.

"Hey Sam, why didn't ya answer me when I called earlier?" asked Bobby, remembering the phone call he had made.

Sam frowned, confused. "When?" He looked down at the bedside table, but didn't see his phone where he left it. "Where's my phone? Dean have you seen my phone?"

Dean blinked slowly, and stared at Sam. "Huh?"

"My phone, Dean. Have you seen it? It's black and has buttons on it."

"Y-Yeah. It kept talking to me, and calling me na-names... so I threw it down the toilet."

"WHAT?" yelled Sam, carefully laying Dean down in the bed. After making sure he was alright, Sam shot up from the bed, and ran into the bathroom. "Dean, I'm going to kill you." He came back into the room a few seconds later, holding his soaked phone in the palm of one hand. "It's broke. Thanks."

"It was na-nasty to me, Sammy." Dean's eyes went round and sad, the bottom lip poked out, and the shoulders scrunched up, making him look about three years old. It was the same look he always used on his mum when he was in trouble, and it always worked. "S-Sorry."

Bobby held the cup away from Dean so he wasn't burned. He tried not to smile when he watched the expressions cross Sam's face as he tried to stay angry, but it just didn't work.

"You..." Sam sighed. "Fine. But when you're better, you're so buying me a new one," he said, putting his soaked phone back on the bedside table, and sitting back on the bed with his sick sibling.

Dean shivered, and turned into his brother's warmth. "H-Hate being... sick."

"We know. It's not fun for us either," said Bobby, bringing the cup of soup back up to Dean's face. "Come on, drink."

"Where... W-Where's the music s-singy thingy?" Dean asked after a few more sips of the hot soup.

Sam looked confused for a second, then he saw the Walkman which was still on the floor. "Do you mean your Walkman?"

Dean wiped his nose with the sleeve of Sam's hoodie, and nodded. "Yeah. He w-was singing to me... H-He's my friend."

Sam rolled his eyes, and placed the wet cloth on Dean's hot forehead, before he got up from the bed to get the player. "Do you want some more music on?" he asked, sitting back beside Dean.

"Y-Yeah," croaked Dean, finishing off the soup.

"Okay, but you better not start dancing around the room again." Sam placed one of the buds into Dean's left ear, and pressed 'play'. He put the other one into his own ear, and laid back against the pillows next to him. "Do you remember this one?"

Dean listened to the song for several seconds, then he gave a tiny smile. He laughed when Sam started pretending to play the piano.

"Come on," said Sam, gently nudging Dean. "You know what to do."

"'K-Kay." Wiping his nose again, Dean lifted his arms and started playing air-guitar.

"...MAMA, JUST KILLED A MAN, PUT A GUN AGAINST HIS HEAD," sang Sam with a grin.

Dean sang the next part in a croaky voice. "P-Pulled my trigger... now he's d-dead..."

Bobby chuckled, and watched the two Winchesters singing and playing their imaginary instruments.

The brothers sang 'Bohemian rhapsody' until Sam somehow ended up nearly giving himself whiplash near the end.

Dean and Bobby both burst out laughing, which left Dean doubled over in pain, holding his chest.

"What an idjit."

"Hey, it wasn't funny," moaned Sam, rubbing his neck.

**TBC**


	10. Recovered

Dean was blinking slowly as he turned to the window, but as he saw something walk past, his eyes went wide and he started yelling. "DINOSAUR!"

Sam jumped in shock at the sudden yell and almost fell off the bed, dropping the cup of coffee he was trying to drink. "What the hell? What's wrong now?"

"A-A dinosaur walked b-by the window."

"Uh-huh," nodded Sam, staring at Dean as if he had three heads. "Of course it did. Dean, dinosaurs don't exist."

"It did. I-It's Barney. Barney just w-walked past the window."

"It was probably your imagination. You know how crazy you get."

"I'm n-not crazy," said Dean, certainly looking crazy, the wild look back in his eyes. "It was Barney."

"Of course it was. It was just your mind playing tricks on you. I think we'd notice if a dinosaur walked past the motel room."

"S-Sure." Dean shuddered, and turned back to the window. His eyes narrowed when he saw the singing 'dinosaur' unlocking one of the other rooms and walked inside. Slowly and quietly, Dean sat up and looked back to make sure Sam wasn't watching, but the younger Winchester was currently sweeping up the broken cup that he had dropped after Dean nearly gave him a heart attack screaming about Dinosaurs.

Dean shakily climbed from the bed and grabbed the salt shaker from the table on his way to the door. Taking one last glance over his shoulder, the sick Winchester opened the door and crept out without Sam noticing.

Sam was putting the remains of the cup into the bin and turned to the bed when he realised how quiet Dean was being. His heart sank when he saw the bed was empty, and Dean nowhere to be found. "DEAN!"

Running over to the partly open door, Sam threw it open fully and ran outside in search of his wayward delirious brother. He was about to go to the manager's office to ask if he had seen Dean when he heard a startled yell coming from the next room, knowing that Dean was somehow involved, he changed direction and ran into the other room.

"Dean what the hell?" Sam skidded to a stop in the doorway when he saw him being restrained by Bobby, waving the salt around the room, and yelling at the man in purple overalls who was laying on the floor.

"I came back to the motel to see the deranged lunatic attacking the motel manager, raving about killing Barney," said Bobby, his hands full of a struggling Dean, who was flailing about wildly.

"L-LET ME GO!" yelled Dean, waving the salt around, most of it landing on the grey haired man on the ground. "BARNEY H-HAS TO DIE! SINGING D-DINOSAURS ARE EVIL!"

Sam ran forward and helped Bobby get Dean under control. As he grabbed Dean's flailing limbs, he looked down at the manager with an apologetic expression. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. My brother... he's sick and the fever makes him a little... insane."

The older man grabbed his old purple hat, from where it had landed in the struggle, and placed it back on his head. He stood up and shook his head, smiling at the sick young man, who was still trying to break free from the two men, glaring at him. "It's okay. I used to work as a janitor at a hospital, and used to see crazy fever behaviour all the time. You wouldn't believe some of the things people do and say when their fever gets too high. Just try to get him cooled down, I don't want him to get free and attack any of my other guests. You're lucky I know about this kind of thing, if it was any of my guests, they wouldn't be as understanding."

"I HAVE T-TO KILL BARNEY! WHERE'S TH-THE LIGHTER? SALT AND BURN B-BARNEY!" Dean yelled, his voice sounding as if he had been gargling with glass. He was barely standing up without support, his throat was sore, his head was pounding and his chest was aching, but that wasn't going to stop him from killing the singing purple demon.

"Dean shut up," said Bobby, grabbing his arm as it started swinging wildly again.

"Seriously. If there's anything I can do..." Sam shook his head again, feeling guilty that Dean attacked this kind man. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. Just get him out of here. If there's anything you need to help him, knock on my door and ask for Ted. I'm always willing to help. Try ibuprofen and Tylenol, they usually work."

"That's what Bobby got him the other day. It's brought his fever down a little, but not enough... as you can see."

"Get him in a cold bath and then use an ice pack on his forehead, groin, or under his arms. If you don't have any, come to the office, I always have some handy."

"Thanks a lot. We better get him back before he tries to attack somebody else with salt." Sam smiled at Ted, as him and Bobby wrestled a still struggling Dean out of the room and back to their own.

When they made it through the door, the two men placed Dean on the bed, and Bobby locked the door to make sure Dean didn't get back out, they couldn't risk him on the public just yet.

"Dean, what the hell was that?" asked Sam, placing the salt shaker on the counter, away from Dean.

"B-Barney... he's... Dinosaurs are n-not supposed to s-sing. He's evil and... and h-he sings happy songs t-to brainwash the kids to take over t-the world," Dean told him, a crazy look in his glazed eyes. "He tells k-kids that everything in the w-world is all happy happy joy joy... but it's not. He's like the devil i-in costume and he deserves to be salted and burned."

"It was the motel manager, you psycho. We're lucky he didn't throw us out."

"To be fair Sam, he was wearing a purple hat and overalls and singing as he went around the rooms. To someone as insane as Dean is right now, he'd probably look like a giant purple dinosaur."

"H-He's evil. Should be i-in hell."

"I know, son. When yer better, we'll go on a road trip, and find the real Barney"

"On a m-magic carpet? And then go see t-the king of the p-potato people?" asked Dean, looking so hopeful that Bobby couldn't deny him anything.

"Sure. We'll see the king of the potato people first, and then we'll fly to where Barney lives, then salt and burn him. Okay?"

"Yeah. Y-Yogi understands me," said Dean, reaching up to make grabby hands at the older man, a goofy grin on his face. "You're awesome."

Bobby chuckled and shook his head fondly as he reached over and ruffled the sweat-soaked spiky hair. "Yer awesome too, ya loony."

Dean's grin became wider, making him look like a manic clown. "I'm a-awesome."

"Yeah, you are when you're not deranged Dean." Sam reached over to grab the medication and antibiotics from the bedside table and asked Bobby to fill the empty glass with fresh water. Taking the needed medication, he held them in his palm and helped Dean sit up against him to help him take the pills.

After he took the medication and a sip of water, Dean laid back against the pillows and looked up at Sam.

"You're going to be okay Dean," soothed Sam, wetting the wash cloth and gently wiping it down Dean's hot cheek. "No more attacking people thinking they're annoying singing dinosaurs."

"Kay. But I hate B-Barney," Dean whispered, his bottom lip protruding from his face.

"Me too." Sam looked down at Dean, who looked like a child right then. "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten all day."

"N-No soup."

"How about some toast?" Bobby offered, lifting up the bread.

"Okay."

Bobby nodded, and headed towards the toaster. "Coming right up. Sam, keep an eye on him."

"Don't worry. I won't let him out of my sight," Sam promised, running the cloth across Dean's forehead, before moving down his nose to his cheeks.

Dean was ignoring the two of them, and trying to concentrate on the movie that was playing on the TV. He frowned, and gasped when he suddenly saw something trying to climb out of the screen. "GET T-THE SHOTGUN!"

"Oh for crying out loud," sighed Sam. "Dean what do you need a shotgun for now?"

"S-Stevie. He... He's trying to kill m-me. Look." Dean pointed a trembling finger at the TV, his glazed eyes never leaving the screen. "He's sending his evil m-minions out to get me."

"Dean, it's a movie. She's a movie character, she's not trying to kill you. It's Samara."

Dean turned his confused gaze up to him. "I th-thought your name w-was Sam."

"Nevermind. Just watch something normal," he said, reaching over for the remote to turn it over to something that hopefully Dean didn't think was trying to kill him or something he wanted to kill. He came to a stop when he heard the Looney tunes theme tune and saw Bugs bunny come onto the screen.

"Looney tunes?" chuckled Bobby, taking the toasted bread out of the toaster, and putting the slice onto a plate to butter it lightly. "Dean's long lost relatives."

"I know," laughed Sam. "Why watch the looney tunes on the TV when we've got one right here on the bed."

"I'm not l-looney tunes. I'm... I'm..."

"A Nutcase? A Madman? Crazy? Insane? Demented? Deranged? Psychotic? Delusional? Tell us something we don't know."

Dean was glaring at Sam as Bobby brought over the plate of toast. "Here we go," he said, placing it on the covers, before sitting Dean up and plumping the pillows up behind him so he could sit up comfortably. "There. That should be easier for ya son."

"T-Thanks Yogi." Taking the plate, Dean reached out with a trembling hand to pick up one of the pieces of toast that Bobby had cut up for him. After each mouthful, he kept trying to move away from the cold wet cloth that Sam continued wiping down his cheek as he tried to watch the cartoons playing on the TV.

As he ate the toast, Dean suddenly needed to cough and accidentally breathed in, and a piece of the toast became lodged in his throat, causing him to start choking. He started coughing, trying to get rid of the toasted bread that was blocking his airway.

Sam sat frozen on the bed, staring at Dean in panic, his medical training his dad had taught him seemed to have fallen out of his mind and was lost... a bit like Dean's marbles. Luckily Bobby remembered what to do and rushed over to the bed to pull Dean up against him, wrapping his arms around the trembling frame and putting his hands in the Heimlich position, and started compressions.

It was Dean's head lolling limply forward that finally brought Sam out of his shock. He placed his hands on Dean's face, and lifted it slightly so he could into his eyes, stroking his thumbs down his hot cheeks softly. "Please Dean. Spit it out."

"Come on son. Don't do this."

"Yeah. You can't let a piece of toast take out Dean Winchester can you? Come on," Sam pleaded, his eyes filling with tears as he begged him. "Please Dean. Come on, bring it up. Please."

After several seconds of choking and wheezing, a soggy piece of toast suddenly smacked Sam in the face. Dean collapsed back against Bobby, and started gasping in mouthfuls of air, before he started coughing again.

"Oh thank god." Sam sighed in relief and reached over with his arms outstretched to hug Dean. "Don't you do that to me again, you hear me?"

Dean continued coughing against Sam's shoulder and brought his shaking arms up to wrap around Sam. "See? T-They're trying t-to kill me," he rasped weakly, still trying to gasp in gulps of air.

Sam turned to look at Bobby over Dean's shoulder and saw the older man was looking at them worriedly, panic clear in his eyes as he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Thanks Bobby. You saved my brother."

"W-Where's Yogi?" rasped Dean, turning his head to look over his shoulder to find the older man.

"I'm here son. I'm right here," said Bobby, reaching out his hand to squeeze Dean's shoulder gently. "Yer alright."

Dean nodded, and sank back against Bobby's chest, almost dying seemed to have taken a lot out of him. His half-lidded eyes started fluttering as they looked up at Sam, a tiny smile quirked up the corners of his mouth as he tried to show him that he was alright.

"I'll go throw this away," said Sam, picking the plate of toast up from where it had fallen on the bed during the desperate attempt to save Dean's life. He didn't want to risk Dean choking again, so he walked over to throw it in the bin.

On the TV, Yosemite Sam was randomly firing his guns, making Dean glare back at the TV hatefully. He waited until Bobby left the bed, and reached over to the bedside table where he knew there was a gun and quietly got it out.

Before either man had time to react, Dean had grabbed the gun and pointed it at the TV. "S-Stop trying to k-kill me," he said, before pulling the trigger, shattering the TV screen. Dean smiled and sat back to watch the huge black hole in the TV where the characters once lived.

Hearing the gunshot, Sam and Bobby threw themselves on the floor out of the way of gunfire in-case Dean decided to kill them too. When they cautiously looked up and saw Dean staring blankly at the broken TV with the gun by his side, Sam was the first to recover from the shock.

"DEAN!" Sam ran over to the bed, and took the gun out of his limp hand. "WHAT THE HELL!"

"Great! He's killed the TV." Bobby shook his head in exasperation as he stared at the smoking TV set, then he walked over and unplugged it before it burst into flames or something, that was the last thing they needed.

"I k-killed Stevie," said Dean, as he stared at the hole in the TV set.

"We noticed. What the hell did you shoot the TV for? Wasn't it enough that you killed the lamp and the microwave?" said Sam, trying not to get angry at his sick/delirious brother. He turned to the older man behind him and held out the gun. "Put that somewhere else. Make sure Dean doesn't see where you put it. I didn't think he saw me when I put it in the bedside table, but I guess I was wrong."

"Ya think?" asked Bobby, walking over to the door. "I'll go and tell Ted the TV suddenly exploded before anyone calls the cops. The last thing we need is for Psycho Sid over there to get arrested."

"Okay. Don't forget to hide the gun in the car so Dean doesn't find it." Sam turned back to Dean, who was staring sadly at the remains of 'Stevie'. "Dean, why did you shoot the TV?"

"Because... because he was t-trying to kill m-me. The lady and then the h-hairy guy. He... he had a gun, S-Sammy."

"Right. First of all, Samara was just a movie character crawling from the TV... in the movie. Second of all, Yosemite Sam is a cartoon character. Neither of them were sent by the TV to kill you."

Dean was silent for several seconds, staring at Sam. "They... It's you," he accused, pointing a finger at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Samara... Yosemite S-Sam. They b-both... They're SAM!"

"Oh for gods sake. Dean, the lamp isn't trying to kill you. The TV isn't trying to kill you and I'm certainly not trying to kill you."

Dean laid staring at Sam for a few seconds, before he suddenly doubled over with a violent coughing fit that took him by surprise.

"Whoa." Sam shot forward and grabbed Dean so he didn't fall from the bed. He held Dean to his chest and allowed him to rest his head on his shoulder as he coughed his lungs up. "I've got you. It's alright."

Dean whimpered in pain, one hand gripping his aching stomach as he hacked and wheezed against Sam's supportive frame as he rubbed his back soothingly through his coughing fit.

"Take it easy." Sam's heart raced in his chest as he tried to help him through the violent coughs that racked his sick body. Each and every time Dean struggled like this, it always made Sam's heart ache at the pain his big brother was obviously in, and he could do nothing about it but hold him and help him through it.

Finally the coughing fit ended, leaving Dean lying limply in Sam's arms, wheezing painfully as he tried to catch his breath. "It's okay big brother." Sam continued holding him for two or three minutes, one hand rubbing soothing circles onto his back as he struggled to get himself under control and his breathing back to normal.

When Dean started to move away from Sam, he carefully pulled him away, and laid him back against the pillows. He picked up the cough syrup, and poured the pink liquid onto the small spoon, which he held out in-front of Dean until he opened his mouth.

Swallowing the syrup, Dean pulled a face, and reached over for the glass of water, but before he could reach it, Sam grabbed it. "There we go," he whispered, helping him take a few sips.

"T-Thanks."

"When Bobby comes back in, we're getting you back in the bath to get you cooled down."

Instead of answering, Dean just blinked slowly and stared up at him as if he didn't understand what he was talking about. When the door opened, and in walked Bobby he smiled at him as if he was his saviour.

"How is he?"

"He's not killing anything else if that's what you're asking. What did Ted say?"

"He asked what the noise was and I told him the TV suddenly exploded. I think he believed me, he said he'd just replace it when we've left."

"Great. We need to get him in the bath again so the heat doesn't fry what's left of his brain cells."

"I'm on it." Bobby rolled up his sleeves, and headed into the bathroom, but on his way, he ruffled Dean's sweat-soaked hair.

Dean grinned dopily at him, and reached his arms out to him. "B-Bear hug."

Bobby rolled his eyes, and quickly leaned over the bed to give Dean a hug. "There ya go," he whispered, squeezing the feverish Winchester for several seconds before letting him go.

"L-Love bear hugs."

"Me too. I better go and get the bath ready. Be a good boy for yer brother, okay?"

"Kay Yogi," Dean agreed, nodding his head slowly, the huge happy smile never leaving his face.

"Keep a close eye on him," Bobby told Sam, as he walked into the bathroom. "Don't even look away for a second."

"Don't worry. I won't." Sam re-wet the cloth and continued running it down Dean's hot face, trying to cool him down as much as possible before they got him in the cold bath.

Dean sighed in relief and leaned into the hand on his cheek, the coldness of the cloth was like heaven to him right then. "Ha-tsuh. Huh- _hitchsh_!  _Etshchsh_ -Choooo!" he sneezed, wiping his bright red nose on the hoodie sleeve much to Sam's disgust.

It was over five minutes later when Bobby came back into the room to announce, "The bath is ready."

"Okay. Let's get him in and hope it helps get his fever down some more." Sam put the cloth back into the bowl, and stood from the bed to carefully wrap his arms around his shoulders. "Bobby, get his legs."

The older man walked over to the bed, and did as Sam asked him. Picking up Dean's lower body, he nodded to show he was ready and the two of them carried the sick young man to the bathroom.

* * *

It was an hour later when the two men carried a sleepy, but cooler Dean back into the main room, and carefully lowered him into the bed in just a pair of boxers. Sam quietly covered him up with the thinnest blanket they had so he didn't overheat again.

After making sure he was comfortable, Sam grabbed the first-aid kit and picked up the thermometer. Placing it carefully in Dean's mouth, Sam waited for two minutes before taking it back out and checking the reading. He sighed in relief and turned to look at an anxious Bobby.

"Well?"

"It's finally gone down to 101. That's the lowest it's been since he got sick. If we can get it to normal and if it doesn't get any higher, then I think he could be better within the next couple of days."

"The coughing and sneezing fits aren't as bad as they were, so I think yer right. Let's just hope that when his fever is more or less normal, he'll be back to normal."

"I know. It's exhausting taking care of him when he's like this. But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither. He's a pain in the ass... but he's our pain in the ass," said Bobby, looking fondly down at a sleeping Dean, who was making snuffly noises and drooling onto the pillow as he slept.


	11. epilogue

**Three days later**

Dean was finally starting to feel better and was no longer as insane as he had been for the past week that he had been sick. The cold baths and medication Bobby had gotten him seemed to have done the trick.

Since Dean was no longer a handful and trying to declare war on everything in the motel room, Sam had told Bobby that he could handle Dean on his own so the older man was getting ready to go home the next day.

Dean was laying on his bed, listening to music on his walkman, nodding along to the black Sabbath song that was currently playing. "Hey Sam?"

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" asked Sam, turning away from the cleaning he was currently doing.

"Yeah. Do you ever think about your soul, or think that when you're dead you just stay in your grave?" he randomly asked, staring down at the walkman he was holding in both hands as he rewound the tape to replay the song that he had just listened to.

"Er...What?"

"It's black sabbath, Sam," Bobby told the confused Winchester, recognising the song lyrics straight away.

"Oh. Why are you asking me that for?" asked Sam, going to sit on the edge of Dean's bed.

Dean shrugged, and pressed play so he could listen to 'after forever' once again. "I just wanted to know. Ozzy is awesome. With Sabbath or on his own," he told him, nodding his head in tune to the song.

"Okay then. How are you feeling today?" he asked, reaching out his hand to place on Dean's forehead. He smiled slightly when he felt that Dean was a lot cooler than he had been and only seemed to have a slight temperature. "You're a lot better. You could be fully recovered by the end of the day... tomorrow at the latest."

The older Winchester smiled up at Sam as he gently placed the wet wash cloth over his forehead.

"That'll hopefully cool you down properly, and get rid of the last of your fever. You're not coughing or sneezing as much as you used to, and you're no longer shivering, so your teeth aren't chattering. We can understand what you're saying, so you're definitely better."

Dean nodded, and looked over at the older man, who was still packing up his things. His eyebrows shot up and a spark of recognition flashed in his green eyes. "Hey Bobby," he said, finally calling him by his real name.

"Hey boy. What happened to Yogi?" he asked, sitting on the other side of the bed.

"He finally got arrested after stealing too many picnic baskets?" asked Dean with a shrug, obviously not understanding what Bobby was talking about.

Bobby chuckled, and shook his head, before turning to Sam. "Yeah, he's finally sane."

"What are you talking about? I'm always sane... more or less," he said, before sneezing once into the palm of his hand. "Dammit."

"What was the TV called?"

"Do the forks have any names? Are the spoons still cold?"

"Er... Are you sure you don't want me to call the men in white coats? I think you could do with a straight jacket or something."

Bobby cleared his throat, and struggled not to start smiling or laughing. "What about the lamp? Do you still want to kill Larry?"

"Who the hell is Larry?" asked a lost Dean, looking over at Sam with a bewildered expression.

"He er... He's the lamp. You sort of declared war and tried to kill it several times."

"What?"

"Yeah. You woke me up in the middle of the night when you were rolling around the floor trying to strangle the lamp with its own cord, you blew it to bits by shooting it the next morning. Then you asked Bobby to perform an exorcism to get rid of it, and after that you seemed to be okay with it."

Dean blinked slowly and stared at Sam, clearly not believing a word he was saying. "Riiiiight. Of course I did."

"Ya did. Ya also started singing 'I'm going slightly mad' using a wok as a guitar, dancing around the motel room in yer boxers. Ran around the motel room stark naked, thinking we were trying to sacrifice ya to Larry, and took off outside in the parking lot, threatening us with forks and throwing eggs at us. And ya kept asking if we could go flying on a magic carpet, and see the king of the potato people."

"Don't forget when he almost blew the motel up with the microwave by putting spoons in it because they were apparently cold. He tried to rip my hair out because there was apparently a rat on my head... which turned out to be my hair. Oh, and I can never forget when he 'fell' up a tree in the middle of the night and thought I was a yeti when I saved him."

"Or when he swore that a dinosaur walked past the window and it turned out to be the motel manager. Or shooting a hole through the TV because it was trying to kill him by sending his minions through the screen."

"Seriously? You expect me to believe all that?"

"It's true. Ya didn't go just slightly mad, ya went completely mad. Naming furniture, thinking everything was trying to kill ya, calling me Yogi."

Dean laid on the bed, shaking his head as he finally started to believe some of the things they were telling him. "I... I... er..." He sighed, and turned to look at the two men. "Okay. So maybe I do go a little mad sometimes... we all go a little mad sometimes."

"Dean, quoting Norman Bates from Psycho isn't helping matters," said Sam, smiling fondly as he shook his head.

Dean smiled back, but frowned when he felt a familiar sensation in his chest. He covered his mouth with one hand, and coughed into the palm, thankfully it wasn't as bad as it had been and didn't leave him almost breathless on the bed.

"Here," said Sam, picking up the glass of water from the bedside table, and gently placed his arm around Dean's back and sat him up against his side to help him have a drink.

"Sam I can drink by myself you know," said Dean, trying to move away from the glass. He glared at Sam, and took the water, so he could drink it by himself. "See?"

"Sorry. I sort of got used to helping you when you were really sick."

"Since yer not feeling so bad, Do ya want something to eat other than soup or toast? I can go and get ya something if ya want," Bobby offered.

Dean was leaning back against the pillows, rubbing his rumbling stomach gently. He realised he was really hungry, because since being sick Dean had hardly eaten anything without bringing it back up again, so he had lost several pounds, and his stomach sounded as if a puppy was in there growling hungrily. "Er... Yeah."

Bobby nodded, and stood from the bed, making sure he had his wallet in his pocket. "Okay. Can I borrow the Impala? My car ain't been running too good since yesterday."

"Dean didn't manage to get to it, did he?" asked a suspicious Sam, handing over the keys.

Bobby chuckled and took the offered keys. "No. This one isn't a Dean related problem." He looked down at Dean. "Any preferences about what ya want to eat?"

"Anything but soup," Dean whispered, clearing his throat.

"I'll be back soon. Sam do ya want anything while I'm out?"

"No. My brother's finally better, so I've got everything I want here," said Sam, smiling down at his sibling, who was staring up at him as if he had gone mad.

Bobby nodded, and headed for the door. "Okay then. If ya change yer mind, give me a call."

"How? Dean threw my phone down the toilet and drowned it."

Dean was taking another sip of water and nearly choked when Sam said that. "I did what now?"

"You threw it down the toilet, because according to you, it was talking to you and calling you names. So you owe me a new phone when we get back on the road."

"Seriously, someone needs to lock me up the next time I get sick," said Dean with a sigh.

"Don't worry, we will be. I think we'll redecorate Bobby's panic room with extra padding and blankets for the next time it happens."

"And I'll order a straight jacket with extra straps, so he won't be able to declare war every five minutes or burn the place down." Bobby chuckled at the expression on Dean's face as he passed by the bed and headed towards the door.

Left alone the two Winchesters looked at each other. Sam put the cloth back into the bowl of water, and sat closer to Dean's side so their shoulders were touching.

"I'm really glad you're feeling better. I hate it when you're sick."

"Why? Because I go crazy?" asked Dean, his lips twitching up into a tiny smile.

"That's only a small part of it. There was a few times I was even thinking about taking you to the hospital, your fever was too high, you were imagining things that weren't even there. It's not often that you get sick, and when you do... it's really bad. You really scared me, you know," he whispered, lowering his head, and staring down at his hands.

Dean raised his eyebrows, and stared at him. "I er... I'm sorry?"

"You can't help what you do when you have a fever. After everything you did for me as a kid, taking care of you when you're sick only pays back a little bit of that. I don't mind taking care of you... No matter how crazy you get."

"I hate it when I don't feel right, and I hate it even more when people have to take care of me."

"Well, that's what brothers do. They take care of each other no matter what," Sam told him, placing his hand over Dean's and squeezing slightly. "You always say it's your job to take care of me, but you always seem to forget that it's my job to take care of you... you just don't let me until you feel so bad that you nearly collapse."

Dean sighed, and shook his head as he looked down at Sam's hand over his. "I can't just stop. I've been taking care of myself since I was four. It's not easy to give it up."

"I'm not asking you to give it all up. Stop putting everything on your own shoulders and let me carry some of it for you. We'll be there for each other... The Winchesters against the rest of the world."

"You forgot Bobby."

"Right, so it's the Winchesters and Bobby against the rest of the world. Can you stop taking everything on yourself and let me do my job?"

Dean shrugged and smiled. "I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

* * *

When Bobby came back into the room, he was carrying a few bags of shopping for the two brothers now that Dean wasn't so sick anymore. Placing the bags onto the table, he started to unpack and held up a takeout bag and a slice of pie.

"I got ya some of yer favourites. There's M&Ms for afterwards, and I got ya some beer," said Bobby, putting the burger and fries onto a plate and carrying it over to the bed. "There ya go."

"Wow. Thanks Bobby. You're the best."

"I know. Tell me something I don't know," said Bobby with a wink, carefully placing the plate onto Dean's knee. "Don't eat too fast, okay? We don't want ya to end up sick again."

"Kay." Dean picked up one of the fries and put it in his mouth, chewing hungrily. "Oh wow. That tastes awesome," he said, his stomach growling again. "I'm starving."

"We can hear that."

"Mmm. Want some?" he offered, gesturing to the plate with his free hand.

"No. You eat it. You could do with some food after the past week you've had."

"Let's hope it's a long time before it happens again," said Bobby, sitting back on the other bed, relaxing against the pillows. It was good to finally relax, with a mad/delirious/sick young man to take care of, you didn't have time to relax before something insane happened.

It wasn't long before Bobby fell asleep, leaving the two young men to entertain themselves. Both were thankfully as sane as each other and wouldn't get into too much mischief.

* * *

**The next day**

* * *

Since Dean was finally fully sane again (more or less), he didn't want to stay at the motel any longer than he had to, so him and Sam were following Bobby back to his place for a few days.

As he started the car, Dean jumped back startled when Ozzy Osbourne suddenly blared out of the radio full blast, singing 'Crazy train'. "What the hell?"

Sam was frowning as he stared at the radio. "That wasn't the last song that was in the car. It was Metallica."

"I know. But how did... Nevermind." Dean shrugged and started singing along to the song as he followed Bobby's car out of the parking lot and into the road. "...Mental wounds not healing. Life's a bitter shame. I'm going off the rails on a crazy train. I'm going off the rails on a crazy train..."

It was when the next two songs came on- Black sabbath's 'Am I going insane' and Ozzy's 'Diary of a madman', that Sam started to wonder if Bobby had done something when he had borrowed the car the day before.

Dean either didn't care or didn't notice, he just continued singing to his hearts content as he drove down the road with the windows down and the music loud, his fingers tapping in rhythm against the steering wheel. "...Sanity now it's beyond me, there's no choice. Diary of a madman, Walk the line again today. Entries of confusion, Dear diary, I'm here to stay. Manic depression befriends me. Hear his voice. Sanity now it's beyond me..."

The next song was 'Welcome home (sanatorium)' by Metallica, and then Queen's 'I'm going slightly mad' came on, making Sam laugh. He still remembered Dean giving a concert in the motel room with the wok just a few days ago.

It was when his phone started ringing and he heard the ringtone had been changed to 'They're coming to take me away hahaa' that Dean shook his head as he cancelled the call, knowing who was calling him. "I'm going to kill Bobby."

"When did you notice?"

"Since crazy train. But most of these songs are awesome, so I'll let it go... I'M GOING SLIGHTLY MAD! I'M GOING SLIGHTLYYYY MAD!"

"IT FINALLY HAPPENED!" Sam joined in with a big smile. "HAPPENED! IT FINALLY HAPPENED! OH YES!"

"IT FINALLY HAPPENED... I'M SLIGHTLY MAAAAAAAAD!" Dean started nodding and swaying in his seat, being careful to keep the car straight on the road as he drove. "I'M ONE CARD SHORT OF A FULL DECK! I'M NOT QUITE THE SHILLING!"

"ONE WAVE SHORT OF A SHIPWRECK! I'M NOT MY USUAL TOP BILLING!"

"I'M COMING DOWN WITH A FEVER! I'M REALLY OUT TO SEA!" Dean grinned over at Sam, and nodded as they sang the next part together.

"THIS KETTLE IS BOILING OVER... I THINK I'M A BANANA TREEEEEE!" they sang in unison, and laughed. "OH DEAR, I'M GOING SLIGHTLY MAD! I'M GOING SLIGHTLY MAAAAAAAAAD..."

Sam stopped singing for a minute to say, "People who hear us are going to think we  **are** slightly mad"

"And? I'M KNITTING WITH ONLY ONE NEEDLE! UNRAVELLING FAST IT'S TRUE!"

"I'M DRIVING ONLY THREE WHEELS THESE DAYS! MY DEAR HOW ABOUT YOU..."

The smile never left Sam's face as he sang and had fun with his fully-recovered brother. If people did think they were crazy... Dean was right, so what. If it was crazy to sing with your brother, then call him crazy.

He was just glad Dean no longer was.

***The End***


End file.
